The Silent Treatment
by paganpunk2
Summary: Dick, Tim, and Damian are busy gearing up for a 'brocation', but an old adversary has a scheme in the works that could unhinge more than their holiday plans. T for language and violence. Sequel to 'Tectonic Doom'.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Here we are at the beginning of another adventure with the Batfam. This story is a sequel to 'Tectonic Doom', so if you haven't checked out that story you might miss out on a few of the finer details that will go into this one. I will be continuing my usual every-other-day posting, although there may be a couple of missed days due to upcoming events. I will be sure to give you all notice of those as they get closer.**

**For those of you who are waiting for more in the 'Spark in the Dark' series, we'll be returning to it after the conclusion of this story. **

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><p>"So," Dick said, peering down at the atlas open before him, "you're saying we should hit these in a big loop?"<p>

"It seems to make the most sense that way," Tim shrugged from across the coffee table. "We can spend those few days in D.C. that you wanted first, kind of get an overview of the war as a whole, and then hit battlefields all the way down and back up." He sketched a vaguely u-shaped route on the map as he spoke. "That way we're not retracing our steps along the way."

"Well, it makes more sense than what I was thinking. I thought we'd go all the way down to Appomattox and then kind of zig-zag back. Your idea is _way_ more logical." He grinned. "There's a shock. But," he turned to the teenager beside him, "you don't look happy. What's up?"

"It should be chronological," the thirteen-year-old groused.

Dick and Tim exchanged a look. "Dami," the elder explained patiently, "look at the map. We'd have to go from Manassas up into Maryland for Antietam, then back _past_ Manassas to hit Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, then all the way north into Pennsylvania for Gettysburg, and then waaay down south again for Cold Harbor, Petersburg, and Appomattox."

"So what?!"

"So it doesn't make any sense," Tim insisted.

_"You_ don't make any sense, Drake."

"...Dick, remind me why I want to spend three weeks in a car with him?"

"Because he's your brother and you love him," Dick answered promptly. "Besides, you know he's not really mad at _you_. He's mad at the fact that the Civil War wasn't fought in an order that's convenient for tourism."

"Heh." A tiny smirk had appeared on the youngest of the trio's face. "Yeah. I think they should have thought about that."

"Yeah, it's not like they had anything more important on their minds. Just the future of the country, the question of slavery, not dying a horrible death in combat...little things." Tim rolled his eyes, but he, too, was smiling.

"...You guys are getting so good at not trying to kill each other every time you have a disagreement," Dick beamed. "I'm so proud. This trip's going to be amazing."

Now Damian rolled_ his _eyes. "Enough mush. And enough planning, too. Drake, I need your computer."

"What for?" Tim asked, suspicion plain in his voice.

"Grayson said I could be in charge of the music for the trip. Since he _also_ said I had to make a play list that included some of your preferred bands, I need your computer."

"I'm surprised you didn't just hack in," Tim arched an eyebrow. "Not that you would have been able to, but still. Normally you'd at least _try._"

"Not even your admittedly decent security would have held for long if I'd wanted in. It's just less of a waste of my time to just ask."

"...I would be mad at your assumption that you could make it past my protections at all, let alone quickly, but considering that you used to try and hack my systems just to annoy me I'll let it go." Tim stood up. "I guess I'll even let you in the easy way, since you were almost nice about it."

"Aww," Dick cooed.

Damian winced. "...I vote we lock him out while we do this."

"We won't have to. He has to work on booking hotels now that we have an itinerary."

"Aw!" A disappointed pout appeared. "But I love it when you two are nice to each other! Can't you just let me enjoy it?"

"Grayson, I'm already concerned about sticking to things while I'm in Drake's bedroom. I don't need your sap upping the risk."

"First of all, that was disgusting," Tim retorted. "You're not going to stick to anything in my room, and if you do it will be your own fault. Second, Dick, you'll get three weeks straight of us attempting to be nice to each other soon enough. You can top your tank off then. Now come on, Damian," he jerked his head towards the hall. "I found this new group the other day that you might actually like."

"If _you_ like them, then I highly doubt that."

"All I know is that they scream a lot and the bass has the potential to make your ears bleed. It seemed like your kind of thing."

"...Mm. That _is_ promising..."

When they had departed, Dick met Bruce's gaze. The billionaire had spent the last twenty minutes watching his sons surreptitiously over his newspaper, but now he folded the journal shut. "...Well?" he asked.

Dick leaned back against the sofa. "Well what?" he smiled.

"How's it going? The planning?"

"Hmm...if I didn't know better, I'd think you'd actually been reading that stock market report in your hands."

Bruce sighed and gave in. "They've made some definite improvements in their relationship," he noted.

"Are you kidding? They're doing great!"

They were, he had to admit. While there had been a few nasty incidents in the year since Tim and Damian had seemed to reach an accord, only one had ended in blows. That altercation had ceased almost as soon as it had begun, with each combatant recognizing what he was doing and backing off before either had landed more than two hits. They'd apologized, albeit a bit begrudgingly, and that had been that. Overall Wayne Manor was more harmonious now than it had ever before been with more than two of his boys under its roof together, and he wouldn't have dreamed of complaining about it.

The only drawback to the younger pair's new-found tolerance that he'd discovered so far was the trip that he'd just witnessed being hashed out. After Dick and Tim's near-fatal sojourn the summer before, Bruce couldn't stand the thought of any of the three being away from Gotham as civilians for more than a night at a time. Had he known that Tim was going to present Dick with another vacation – or 'brocation', as the latter had taken to calling them – for his birthday, he would have taken steps to temper it into something shorter than three weeks and closer to home than Virginia. He hadn't had the heart to step in once he'd seen his eldest's joy at the gift, though, and now he was stuck with it.

"Bruuuuce..."

"You're right," he nodded, shaking himself. "They're doing great."

"They really are. And this," Dick waved his arm to indicate the guide books and maps covering the table, "is going to be an awesome trip."

"...Yes. I'm sure it will be." So long as it didn't involve car accidents, food poisoning, hotel serial killers, or vendetta-wielding scientists, it would be fine. He swallowed hard. _Just a safe, fun trip. That's all I want for them._

Dick was at his elbow suddenly. "Bruce," he said seriously, "it's okay. Honest. I know you're not exactly ecstatic about us going away for a little while, but nothing's going to happen. And even if it does," he pressed, squeezing his wrist gently, "we won't be out in the middle of nowhere this time. There will be other people around, and services, and...well, it's going to be a lot different. So stop worrying, okay?"

Bruce took a deep breath. "I can't stop worrying, chum." Turning the hand atop his arm over, he gripped it tightly. "Worrying is my job."

"I know, but…look, at least we'll all three be together. I mean, think about what Tim and I got out of last summer. With Dami in the mix too we could probably stop an asteroid strike."

It was a joke, but Bruce didn't laugh. The events of the previous July had been bad enough, but the thought of all three of them being caught up in something without him was untenable. A sleeping semi-truck driver, a freak hurricane, a mass shooter...there were so many ways that he could find himself with three sons dead and the fourth still refusing to talk to him. _So many ways to be alone again,_ he winced, and shut his eyes.

"...Bruce?"

"I know," he whispered. "It was a joke."

A heavy sigh sounded, and a moment later he felt a weight land on his shoulder. Glancing over, he found that Dick had perched on the arm of the recliner and was leaning against him. "You could still come with, you know," was proposed.

"I've thought about it. Very seriously, in fact. But there's something to your name for these outings that I don't want to interfere with."

"'Brocations'? What do you mean, there's something to it? It's just a name."

"Yes, but it's a meaningful name. You and Tim took your trip last year to spend time together as brothers. It was in that same frame of mind that Tim came up with this trip, first for you and him, and then for Damian, as well." A frown etched itself across his face as he went on. "It's good, Dick. It's _very_ good, to be honest, and I'm...I'm glad that the three of you are doing something special together. My presence would take away from the intent of your journey, so as much as I might wish that you were all going to be safe in your beds at home...you need to go without me. Just be careful," he pleaded, "and come back in one piece."

"You know it," Dick promised. "Don't worry, we'll find you something really awesome as a 'wish you were here' present," he smiled as he pulled away. "A cannonball or something."

"What would I do with a cannonball?"

"It would make a heck of a paperweight. No one would try and one-up you in negotiations ever again; they'd be too busy looking around to make sure there wasn't a piece of artillery pointed at the back of their chair."

He couldn't help but chuckle at that. "I can think of a few people I wouldn't mind using that particular scare tactic on, but...just have fun. So long as all three of you come home whole and with good memories, that's the only present I need."

Dick shook his head and winked. "You're too easy to shop for, Bruce. Now I'm _really_ determined to find you something wicked." Picking up the atlas and the list of battlefields Tim had been referencing, he started for the door. "I guess I'd better get started on these hotels. See you later for patrol?"

"Of course. Are you and Tim taking your motorcycles tonight?"

"Yeah. The car was kind of crowded with all four of us in it yesterday."

"I didn't design it to be a station wagon." But hadn't his design choice stemmed partially from the fact that he'd never imagined he'd be fortunate enough to have so many eager partners in his night work? Using a supercar chassis had certainly helped to make the Batmobile the fastest thing on the road, but he thought he'd be willing to sacrifice a few RPMs in exchange for his children's comfort in the backseat. "...Might have to look into that."

"That would be neat. The...the Batmowagon? Is that what we'd call it?"

"I sincerely hope not. That's a terrible name."

"Yeah...eh, I'll think of something better." Shrugging good-naturedly, Dick headed towards the hall. "See you in a little while."

Bruce's gaze was still lingering on the space where the boys had been working when Alfred entered the room. "...Can I get you anything, Master Wayne?"

"Peace of mind would be nice," he muttered.

"I'm afraid I haven't had any of _that_ to spare since the day you were born, sir. You might be interested to know that I've found a finger of brandy to be helpful in a pinch, however."

Mildly taken aback by the butler's comment, he tore his eyes from the coffee table. "You don't like it either, do you? This trip."

"I am of two minds about it. The last thing I wish to see happen is another incident like last summer's, but I can't bring myself to object to their interest in bonding more closely with one another."

"Right." Rising, he walked over to the guidebooks that had been left out and began to flip through one. "Why the Civil War, Alfred? I don't understand why Tim chose _that_ of all things as a theme."

"I've asked myself the same question. The only explanation I can come up with is that a Civil War tour is something they can do without visiting any areas that still bear the scars of their last adventure."

"Mm..." Alfred had a point, he allowed. So many parts of the world had been damaged by Dr. Tracy Collins' earthquakes that there were few places not still in the process of rebuilding. There was no question in his mind that neither Dick nor Tim would want to see the aftermath of that horrible week so soon after having lived it; as such, traveling someplace that hadn't been shaken to pieces made sense. "I suppose it's the kind of thing they could get into fairly easily, once they'd started," he postulated.

"Sir?"

"Well, tactics. There are a lot of those in any war, and they'd both be into that."

"Very true. There's a sense of social justice wrapped up in the conflict as well, and that would obviously appeal to them."

"True." That didn't seem like quite enough for Damian, though. While the teen evinced a moderate interest in tactics and was developing a more acceptable idea of right versus wrong than the one he'd come to the house with initially, Bruce wouldn't have pegged either as being sufficient motivation for him to spend three weeks straight away from his mask. His fingers paused in their idle thumbing through the guide book. The page he'd halted on bore two photographs, one of a man in a Union uniform, the other of a similar-featured Confederate soldier. '_Jacob and Elijah Brown were but one of many sets of brothers who found themselves on opposite sides of the war,'_ he read the caption. "...Brother versus brother," he murmured.

"I beg pardon, sir?"

"...Nothing." Shaking his head, he let the glossy tome close on itself, hiding the brothers Brown from view. Was the way the war had torn families apart along ideological lines what had caught Damian's attention? Maybe, Bruce mused, he was trying to figure out how people had reconciled themselves to one another when the fighting was over. Perhaps it was an attempt to understand the horror of coming across your own brother on the field of battle and having to decide whether to hold family or conviction higher. Or, it being Damian in question, he was simply interested in seeing the fields where so many men had lost their lives.

Whatever the reason behind the teen's interest was, he would try to be glad for it. "This will be good for them," he stated, speaking more to himself than to Alfred. "They'll come back better for having done it."

"I certainly hope so. I don't see why they wouldn't, but..."

"Yeah. But." But there was always that worry that they wouldn't come back at all. "...Is it wrong of me to hope that something happens to keep them from going?"

"Provided that the disaster in question doesn't result in anyone being grievously hurt or worse, sir, I would say that your hope is a natural enough one. Your last experience with sending your children off on holiday wasn't exactly positive, after all."

"Yeah, well..." The futility he'd felt as he'd hovered a thousand feet above his stranded sons the summer before welled up in his chest, as it was wont to do from time to time. If it happened again...if it turned out worse, somehow... "You know, Alfred," he ruled, "I think I _will_ take that brandy you mentioned." A beat passed. "Care to join me?"

"I thought you'd never ask, Master Wayne," the butler answered, clearly relieved. "I'll fetch the glasses."

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><p><strong>Author's Note: For anyone who is interested, I've posted the driving route that the boys agreed upon on my blog, which is accessible via my fanfic profile page. I've also included Damian's suggested route so that you can see why Tim was right. Happy reading!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

Several hours later, Batman frowned. "...Where's Nightwing?"

"He said he'd find us in a little while," Red Robin answered as he holstered his grappling gun. "Something about meeting a contact."

"Who?"

"He didn't give me a name, he just said it was someone who preferred privacy. He went east, if that helps."

"That could be anyone," Robin commented from a short distance away. Finished tying up a would-be burglar, he straightened and crossed his arms. "What is he working on without us?"

"I don't know." Batman shook his head, but he had his suspicions. One of the two main bridges from Bludhaven crossed to the east of their current position, and for all that he'd been home for years now Nightwing still took an active interest in the well-being of Gotham's sister city. It wasn't unheard of for him to meet old informants on this side of the river. That was all it was, surely. Trying to push down his concern, he turned back to the task at hand. "Robin, call this catch in. 8300 block of Risdale."

"I'm not an idiot," the teen scoffed. "I know where we are."

"...What do you want to do?" Red Robin inquired while the police were summoned.

"Leave it be. I'll talk to him about it again later." There were few things that he found irksome about Dick's behavior in general, but this was one of them. Every six months or so Nightwing would vanish partway through a patrol to 'meet with an informant,' but nothing ever seemed to come from it. Since the younger man almost never asked for Batman's help with the issues he occasionally crossed the river to address, he was consistently left more or less in the dark.

He ached to know what was being kept secret – Dick shared everything else with him, after all – but he always refrained from asking. Something told him that it had to do with a remnant sense of independence from the years when they hadn't been speaking and Bludhaven had been Nightwing's, and Nightwing's alone. For all that their bond was stronger than ever, he couldn't bring himself to press for information. _When he's ready to share, he'll come to me_, he reminded himself now. _Just follow your own advice and leave it be._

"Done," Robin announced. "We're going after him now, right?"

"No," Batman denied. "You heard Red Robin. If Nightwing's with a skittish source we don't want to interrupt him. We'll continue with patrol as usual. Together," he added.

The youth muttered something unintelligible, but he followed instructions without any blatant balking. Tim simply pursed his lips and said nothing. As the trio rose into the moonlight, bolted across a rooftop, and then swung towards downtown, the cowled man debated with himself. Was he worrying too much about his eldest's solo side mission? It certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd been guilty of overprotectiveness, and his discontent over the boys' fast-approaching trip could easily be swaying him. Still, all of his birds had been trained from day one to keep their whereabouts known to their partners, and Dick was no rule breaker. What was the root reason for the cyclic rebellion he was acting out once again tonight?

Business picked up as the hour grew later, and for a little while Batman was forced to focus solely on crime-fighting. A pair of muggers went down, then a car thief; two blocks further they chanced upon a gang operation hidden in a quayside warehouse.

"...Too bad Nightwing missed that," Robin said pointedly after they'd shut down the group's trade in stolen electronics. "He would have enjoyed it."

"It's been almost an hour and a half," Red Robin remarked quietly. "Usually I wouldn't want to bother him either, Batman, but that's a long time."

He couldn't argue. On unscripted nights like this one they might go ninety minutes without calling in if they were working in pairs, but for an individual to wait so long before reporting... "Wait here," he ordered, stalking towards the door. "I'll be back."

The air in the street was cooler than it had been inside the stuffy building, but the change in temperature did nothing to soothe the headache starting behind his eyes. "Nightwing," he rumbled into his radio. Open line answered him. "...Nightwing. Respond." He waited for the space of three breaths before trying once more. "Tap if you're engaged," he demanded, his voice roughening. Even if the other man was in a situation where silence was of the essence, he could click his teeth together enough to be picked up by the sensitive microphone in his mask without the sound being audible to anyone nearby. _Do __something__, damn it._ _Where are you_?

Nothing happened.

"...Conference," he muttered into the frequency on which the other two were currently set. Both were beside him in less than thirty seconds, their postures making it clear that they knew he didn't have good news. "Are the gangsters secure?" It wasn't really his primary concern anymore, but it seemed a waste to let any of them get away when they were already down.

"They'll hold until the police arrive. Robin already called," Tim informed him. "Are we east-bound?"

"...Yes." There was a possibility that Nightwing had gone underground, where his receiver couldn't be trusted to work, Batman told himself. Even if that turned out to be the case, though, he had a lot of explaining to do. Failing to call in or reply to queries for going on two hours was bad enough, but transitioning out of radio range without giving warning was inexcusable. "On me, and stick close," he commanded, then took off into the sky.

They stopped atop a low block of offices. Batman surveyed the streets from the behind the cover of an insurance billboard while his shadows waited without speaking. "...Nightwing," he tried to hail him a final time. _Say something, Dick. You're starting to scare me._

"Maybe the cave?" Red Robin whispered.

"Mm." He spoke more firmly once he'd shifted frequencies again. "...Batman to base."

"Here, sir," Alfred's voice came through.

He'd been nursing a tiny flame of hope that there was a problem with his own radio's long-distance feature, but the butler's response snuffed it out. "Has Nightwing called in?"

"...No, sir. I haven't spoken to him since you all left." A somber beat passed. "Do you want me to track him?"

"Yes."

Two _clicks_ sounded in his ear, and he knew that Tim and Damian had tuned in. A moment later Alfred was back, his tone now uncertain. "...He is absent, Master Batman."

"...Absent," he repeated, stunned. "_Absent_?" The cold fingers that had been slowly tightening around his heart since he'd first failed to raise his son verbally suddenly clenched.

"Yes. He's nowhere on the map. I can see the three of you, but he's simply...vanished."

Batman watched blankly as his youngest two exchanged a lenses-shrouded glance. "Widen the field."

"...I'm afraid it's no good, sir. He's not showing up anywhere in either Gotham or Bludhaven."

"Keep searching." With that brusque command, he switched onto yet another channel. "Oracle."

It took a minute, but eventually she answered. "Batman. Sorry, I thought Agent A. was on tonight so I wasn't monitoring your line. What do you need?"

"I require your contacts." One of the best things about Barbara and Dick's recent romantic reconciliation, he reflected, was that the vague awkwardness that had been present between her and the rest of the family during the past two years had evaporated. Tonight she sounded eager to assist, and he regretted that he had only bad news for her.

"Okay. Why?"

"I..." He winced. "I can't find Nightwing."

"...What do you mean you can't _find_ him?"

The concern underlining her question would have brought a happy grin to the face of the missing man, but it did nothing for Batman other than deepen his fear. "Incommunicado for two hours," he relayed automatically, "and vanished from my tracking screen."

"Hold on." A distant flurry of keys could be heard on the woman's end of the connection. "...He's not showing up through JLA tracking, either."

"Oh, shit," Red Robin murmured.

Bruce's skin crawled beneath his suit. The cave's personnel locator system relied primarily on one satellite, which stayed in orbit over Gotham and Bludhaven. He could expand his search to a global level if need be, but in such cases he was generally piggybacking on signals that he didn't technically have permission to use. As such he was somewhat limited in where he could search, particularly outside of the United States. The JLA system was much more thorough thanks to the group's long-standing agreements with the UN; if it wasn't turning anything up, they had a serious problem.

"Could the tracker have gone dead or been damaged in a fight?" Oracle queried.

"Hypothetically," he replied. But that was why they all carried two, he didn't add, and in separate locations on their bodies at that.

"He could just be underground," Red Robin reiterated Batman's earlier thought. "If he's under a building or something the signal might not be able to get through."

"Right." It didn't feel that way, though. It felt just like it had the summer before when he'd been searching desperately for a ping-back and kept coming up with nothing.

_It __can't__ be another force field,_ he calculated. With Tracy Collins dead, no one had the technology. Her daughter had taken the Feds to her childhood home, but there had been nothing there – no compacting spheres, no blueprints, no map of the world with little pins marking the geophysicist's earthquake network. The government had literally torn the building down to its foundations in their search, but to no avail. So far as anyone could tell, every scrap of knowledge about the force fields was buried under the mountain that had collapsed on top of Collins' headquarters behind Asperity Falls. The modules that had been collected from three dozen different spots on the globe were the only exception to that, but they were locked up so deep beneath Washington, D.C. that even the JLA wasn't privy to their exact location.

Underground seemed like the most logical answer, but he didn't want to rely on it. If there was something else in play the precious hours it would take to comb through the sewers and subways would be wasted. If Nightwing was beneath the city, he had to have gone in somewhere; with any luck someone had seen him do so, or had at least spotted him above ground shortly before he'd disappeared.

"...Batman?" Oracle spoke. "What do you wan-"

"I want to know if the police have answered any pick-up calls from him near the Bellows Bridge tonight," he cut her off. "If the answer is no, then I want to know who saw him last."

"I'll get right back to you on the police. The other might take longer. Let me know right away if you find anything, please." She paused. "Oracle out."

"...I want _you_," Batman turned to Red Robin, "to take Robin and go check the area around the car." If a fight had somehow led to Nightwing's radio and both of his transmitters being broken, there was a chance he would have tried to make his way to the safety of the Batmobile. As little as he wanted to find his son so injured that he hadn't had the strength to search them out along their patrol route, at least then he would know where he was and that he was alive. The horrid old uncertainty slithering in his stomach was making him sick, and he needed it to stop.

"Sure," Tim nodded immediately. "Let's go, Rob-" He started, then looked about wildly. "...Robin?"

Batman stared around for the teen, who had abandoned his post at his brother's side during the radio conversations. _Goddamn it, Damian, you have a knack for picking the __worst__ times to run off..._ Just as that curse was rolling through his frenzied mind, he spotted him on the roof's edge. "Robin!" he hissed. _What are standing in the light of the sign for? Quit posing, you're making yourself a perfect target…_

Robin looked over his shoulder at him, then jerked his head as if he wanted them to come closer.

"Batman," Red Robin alerted him. "There's someone on the other side of the street."

He had to shift to see past the billboard. When he spotted the figure Tim was talking about, he took a deep, steadying breath. "Red Hood," he muttered as joy, sadness, and more than a hint of trepidation flooded him. Usually Nightwing was the only vigilante other than Batman himself who could move in and out of Jason's territory in one piece, but if he'd somehow crossed a line tonight...

_No. Just…no._ He shook that idea out of his head as he stepped up next to Robin. Jason might try and knock his elder brother around a little if he was pissed off at him, but he wouldn't kill him.

Whatever had happened, though, it was massively out of character for Red Hood to stand in plain sight and just look at them. _Is there something in the air on this side of town tonight that's making everyone act like the opposites of their usual selves?_ he wondered. There was only one way to find out, but he wanted the other two clear of the area in case something sinister was going on. "Go to the car," he ordered the teen.

"No way," an instant rebuttal came. "He knows something, and I want to know what it is."

"That's what I'm going to go over and find out. Now go to the car. I don't have time to argue with you."

For a moment he thought there would be further protest. Then Robin squared his shoulders and shot a glare at the man across the street. "...You tell him that if he touched Nightwing, I'll make him regret it," he threatened.

"Noted," he acknowledged as the boy walked away. Had he not been overwhelmed with concern, he would have found the baleful warning endearing. If there was one thing he could count on Damian to always do, he'd learned since returning from his so-called death, it was protect Dick. He appreciated the help, even if it might not do him any good at the moment. "Call in when you arrive."

"Will do, Batman," Red Robin promised. "...Good luck."

Grimacing, he pulled out his grappling gun and prepared to cross the street. _Thanks, Tim,_ _but I'm hoping that I don't turn out to need it..._


	3. Chapter 3

Red Hood watched as Batman swung across the road. "...Well?" he demanded the instant he'd landed.

"...Well _what_?"

He scoffed. "What kind of game are you playing here, Batman?"

"There's no game-"

"Like hell," he spat, cutting him off. "You sent Nightwing in earlier to do something, and now you've ordered the other two off on some mission just outside my territory. Why?"

The cowled man leaned in. "You saw him? Tonight?" he asked, his voice almost eager.

"Yeah. So what?" They had talked – well, no, he corrected himself, Dick had talked and he had sulked over his unannounced arrival – and then Nightwing had taken off. He had been giving his borders extra attention ever since, as he always did following one of his brother's impromptu visits, and that was why he had spotted the coalition on the other side of the street. "What, you got him to distract me so you could try and move in?" He stiffened. "Or is that what _this_ is? A diversion while the others come around behind? Well, it won't work; you can't kick me out of this city." _It's as much mine as it is yours, Bruce,_ he glowered. _It's more mine than yours in some ways, in fact, because I have actually lived in it._

But Batman was shaking his head. "No one's trying to kick you out of Gotham, Red Hood," he sighed. "And we're not trying to invade your territory, either. I sent the boys back to the car, _not_ over your lines. But Nightwing...how long ago did you see him?"

"Why?" There was something about the other man tonight that bothered him in a different way than usual. He seemed almost afraid, but that couldn't possibly be right. "Just ask him yourself. You've got a radio."

"Yes," a note of irritation sounded, "I do, but he's..." He trailed off.

An icy drop of worry rolled down Jason's spine. "He's _what_?" he pressed, taking half a step closer.

"...He's not answering."

"So track him." It was the obvious next step, and that was the problem; there was no way that it would have been omitted. The chilly little drip that had given him goosebumps a moment before expanded in his stomach as Batman spoke what Red Hood had already determined.

"I can't. He's...he's not showing up."

"Well, that's shitty for you, then," he said. The scathing tone of those words was false, but the accusation he made next was a reflection of how he truly felt. "Let me guess; you think I had something to do with it."

"I'd like to think you didn't."

"But you _don't_ think that." Scoffing again, he turned to look out over the city. There was no way that the sudden dampness in his eyes could be seen under his disguise, but he still didn't want to look at his former mentor. _Asshole._ _I'd never beat him up so badly that he couldn't get to your side of the highway, at least. _If it had been Red Robin who was missing he might have understood Batman's suspicion, but Nightwing...he should know better than that.

"...Tell me you didn't, Hood, and I'll believe you."

He whipped his head back around so fast that his neck popped. If it hadn't been Bruce's voice that had whispered that promise, he wouldn't have believed it for a second. It had been the billionaire, though, not his vigilante counterpart, and that made all the difference. "...He was fine when I saw him last," he ground out. "I didn't lay a finger on him, and I don't know who else might have. All right?"

"Do you have any idea-"

"_No, _I don't."

Batman's rumble returned. "I need to kn-"

"I said I don't fucking know anything." _Get out, _swelled in the back of his throat. _Get out, and don't come back. Leave me alone._

A brief silence hung between them. "I may have to search your territory if he doesn't turn up."

"He's not here," he snarled. "I told you, he left. I watched him go." But not, he thought guiltily, all the way to the edge of his sliver of Gotham. Could something have happened in between where they always met and where Batman's uncontested jurisdiction began? It wasn't impossible, he knew. If that was the case, though, he would find out, not the others. If someone had dared to attack Nightwing inside his territory, he would be the one to make them pay.

He told none of that to the cowled man, however. "Search your own area. If you come into mine again without an invitation, I won't be this accommodating." With that he spun on his heel and began to stomp away.

"Red Hood."

He halted with one foot on the parapet and tightened his hands into fists. "_What_?"

"If you find anything out-"

"Don't ask me to help you, Batman," he interrupted. "...You won't like the answer."

He leaped before anything else could be said. For a little while he simply sailed, gliding through his dingy kingdom and letting his anger drain. The denizens of the night started and looked up in fear as his shadow passed over them, but he didn't stop. Tonight there were more important things on his mind than drug dealers and petty thieves. They would still be there tomorrow, after all, and if they weren't it was no great loss to him; the same could not necessarily be said for Nightwing on either count.

Eventually his arms began to tire, and he stopped on a familiar roof to rest. _Dick,_ he grimaced as he took in the expanse of tar-covered concrete before him. _Where the hell did you vanish to_? Less than a year before tonight he had landed in this exact spot, not unhappy to see the man who had been lounging on the heating vent but irked as always at the presumption he showed by just appearing without warning. He stared at that empty place now, willing the air to solidify into a human being. It was a pointless exercise, and after a moment he stalked over and sat down. _God damn it..._

For Nightwing to not respond to radio calls – particularly Batman's – was worrisome. For him to not be trackable awakened a much deeper fear. Yes, he might have just gone underground, but why? If Jason knew anything about his brother it was that Dick would have told the others if he was traveling out of range for some reason. After all, he'd revealed more than once that he hated the secrecy with which he had to come and go on what he called his 'friendly visits' to Red Hood's territory, as his refusal to say what he was doing left Bruce looking pensive for days. For the first time Jason found himself regretting his insistence that no one know about their occasional conversations.

It was necessary, though. He was party to agreements that stipulated he not work with Batman's cohort, and while twice-a-year rooftop meetings might not have seemed like much to some they would look damning to others. He had no doubt that he would emerge the victor were any or all of his truces to be shattered, but he saw no reason to destroy them through simple carelessness.

If Batman or one of the replacement Robins had known where Nightwing was going tonight, he wondered, would the older man have disappeared so completely? Even if none of the others had followed him, they would have made sure that Alfred was tracking him the entire time. How much of a difference would it have made if someone had seen exactly where the signal died? How much time had been lost between whatever had happened and anyone realizing that something was wrong?

He shook his head in denial. The rendezvous had _had_ to be private, and that was all there was to it. It wasn't his fault; he needed to keep his contracts intact, and if he maybe, just _maybe,_ wanted to see his big brother from time to time despite what he'd agreed to, who could blame him?

Now there was another agreement in play that he would have to try and juggle. _'If I die, or disappear, or whatever – just help them, okay?'_ Nightwing's favor played through his head over and over again, each repetition making him feel more and more desperate. Why, he moaned silently, had he squeezed his hand? What idiocy had driven him to make that tacit promise last fall? His shoulders slumped. How could he have refused, he answered himself, when it was Dick asking? How could he say no now when it was his life that might be on the line?

"Okay, jackass," he murmured. "I remember what you asked me to do. But I'm not going to do it for them." Standing up, he gazed over the alleys and tenements he called his own and calculated where best to start. After a second he walked to the corner. Then, as if it were an afterthought, he glanced back at the seat he'd just vacated and breathed something that no one else could possibly hear. "...I'm going to do it for _you_."

* * *

><p>"Well?" Robin queried impatiently as Batman touched down a half mile outside of Red Hood's territory. "What did he say?"<p>

Batman took a deep breath. "He saw him earlier," he revealed, "but he says Nightwing was unharmed."

"Do you believe that?" Red Robin asked from where he was leaning against the hood of the Batmobile.

"...Yes. I do." It wasn't just that he'd promised his second son that he would trust in what he said; there had also been something in Jason's demeanor that told him the younger man was telling the truth. Despite the fact that it was a dead end, he was glad; now that Tim and Damian were finally getting along, he wasn't sure he could stand to see any of his boys fighting each other.

"Hmph," Robin huffed, crossing his arms. "What about Oracle?"

"She's found nothing," he grimaced. Barbara had called in with neutral news right after he'd started back towards the car. Not only had Nightwing made no police calls, she'd informed him, but none of her go-to contacts had any idea where he might be. "The lines are open, and she'll keep searching. That's where that stands."

"What about Hood?" Red Robin inquired. "...Is _he_ searching?"

"I...don't know." _I hope so. Please, Jason...please..._

"He's got something to do with this," Damian ruled flatly. "If he's not helping, then he _must_ have something to do with it."

"It's Red Hood," Tim shrugged. "He does what suits him, regardless of what it means to others. Maybe he's responsible, maybe he's not. It's hard to tell."

"Putting that aside," Batman stepped in, "we can cover a lot of ground before dawn. Focus on the area near the bridge, but _don't_ cross into Bludhaven or Red Hood's territory. Take the bikes – Robin, you can ride Nightwing's – but be discreet. I don't want everyone in Gotham to know what's going on. Check in every ten minutes. If you go eleven," he warned, "I will find you, and you will regret it. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Got it."

"Good." He watched as they mounted the motorcycles. Just before they took off, he mouthed two final words into his radio. "...Be careful."

Two tight-lipped nods agreed, and then they were gone. "Alfred," he breathed once they'd turned out of sight.

"Sir?"

He winced at the immediate response. _Forget hurting me, Dick; how many more times are you going to practically give Alfred a coronary from fear?_ "Any news?"

"...No. I was rather hoping that you had some."

_Damn. _"I spoke with Red Hood. He saw him tonight, but that's all he knew."

"Hmm. Well, I'm sure he would have told you if he'd seen anything worrisome."

"...You are?" He'd thought that the butler would have taken a line closer to Tim's, but apparently he'd been mistaken.

"Certainly. Whatever the situation between you and him, I find it very difficult to accept that he would simply stand by and allow Nightwing to be injured or taken prisoner, let alone hide it from you in the aftermath." His voice dropped. "Regardless of everything that has happened since he last set foot in this house, sir, I have always held on to the belief that Red Hood remains himself at his very core."

_You're not the only one, Alfred,_ Bruce swallowed. "Right. Just...just keep scanning for the signal, and monitor the rest of us as well. Oracle is aware of what's going on; you might be able to coordinate with her."

"I assume you'll be out until you find something or dawn arrives, sir?"

"Correct."

"Then I will make the proper arrangements for your return."

"Good. Batman ou-"

"Sir?"

"...Yes?"

"Good luck."

"...Thanks." He broke off the transmission then and just stood, staring down the street. _'Good luck'. I hate that phrase. I hate relying on luck at all._ A wave of nausea rolled through him as a hundred horrible images of how he might find his eldest danced behind his eyes. Shaking them off, he strode to the driver's side door and climbed in. _I especially hate it, _he added as he started the engine,_when it looks like I might not have any other choice __but __to rely on it._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: The next chapter will be from Dick's perspective. Also, I've posted a picture on my blog of the sort of area I was imagining the meeting between Batman and Red Hood taking place, so check that out if you're interested. Happy reading!<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

He awoke in darkness and silence.

For a moment he floated just below full consciousness, convinced that he was laying in his bed and had merely been disturbed by some already-forgotten bad dream. Slowly, however, contradictions came. Why was his body wrapped in hard armor instead of the soft, loose pajamas he favored? He would never go upstairs in costume. Who had quieted the familiar hum of the house, the white noise that had rocked him to sleep for so many years? Even if the power was out, there was no explanation for the lack of creaks and groans that all old structures made in the night. Most importantly, what had caused the awful pounding at the back of his skull? Surely Bruce or Alfred would have given him a pill before sending him up to his room with a head injury...

None of it made sense, so he opened his eyes. It made no difference to the darkness, and he frowned. _What is going on_? Where was the breeze that never ceased its caress of Gotham's roofs? When had the river stopped wafting its slightly fetid odor over the bank-side tenements? How had all of the traffic, the people, the _life_ of the city been muted?

_...The city_. It came back to him then, came back with terrible clarity. He'd seen Jason, he remembered, and worn out his welcome as usual. Red Hood had given him one of his standard telling-offs, then sailed away. Dick had had every intention of leaving immediately, but as he turned to go the view from his little brother's principality gave him pause. Downtown had risen up a mile away, its half-lit skyscrapers blocking out the hills beyond. A vast field of urban development spread out from that towering nexus, its millions of lights making up for the stars they blotted out. He had taken a deep breath in order to let out a contented sigh, and that was when everything went black.

Raising his hand, he prodded at the sore spot just above the base of his neck. "Ow!" The protest tore from his lips, but while it echoed in his head it never reached his ears. "...What the heck?" Once again, he heard the words only inside himself. A fearful suspicion made his stomach drop. _Oh, god...no..._

He'd clearly been hit with something, and hard at that. If he had to take a guess he would wager that it had been a bean-bag round, since there had been no one else on the roof to hit him at close range and the blow seemed to have been a powerful one. His panic was rooted in the fact that such ammunition hadn't been designed to be fired at a person's head, and often caused permanent damage when it was. _I'm blind,_ he thought wildly, his seemingly useless eyes growing hot. _Whoever shot me made me deaf and blind...jesus, no...please, please not that..._

Desperate, he began testing all of his senses. He already knew that he could still move his arms, and he quickly determined that his legs were equally functional. Passing his glove beneath his nose, he picked up the scents of Nomex, rubber, and shampoo. Despite not being hungry in the least, he fumbled a nutrient tab out of his belt and placed it on his tongue. It left behind the expected flavor of malted chalk, and he sighed in relief. Now if only everything else would work...

Holding his shaking fingers as close to the side of his head as he could, he snapped. A second later he almost burst into tears. The sound had been dull and flat, not right at all, but it had been _there_ in a way that his words had not. _Okay,_ he thought as he covered his ears gratefully. _Okay. I can still hear. I'm not __totally__deaf, at least, and that's something._

That left only his eyes as potential victims of the assault. Waving his hand in front of his face did nothing, but his success with his hearing buoyed him up anyway. He might just be in a windowless room, he tried to comfort himself, and if it turned out in the end that he wasn't...well, losing one sense was better than losing two. He doubted it would be so easy to brush off if he really _was_ blind, but until he knew for sure that silver lining was enough to restrain some of his despair.

The question now was where he'd been taken by whoever had shot him. It didn't seem possible that he had been left on the rooftop; Jason would have returned before long to make sure he had left, and he refused to believe that the younger man would just pass by if he found him unconscious. Besides, the lack of any outdoor smells or wind suggested that he was inside. Deciding that not being able to see didn't mean that he couldn't do a little investigating, he sat up.

"Aaahh!" he screamed. Like his snapping had been, his shriek of pain was fuzzy and alien by the time it reached his ears. The fact that his skull seemed to be splitting open was a far greater concern, however, and it took all of his efforts to keep from falling over onto the floor as he clutched his head. Bright white lights exploded behind his eyelids, intensifying his agony even as they soothed some of his fear. _I can't be blind if I can see those, right?_ he hoped as he repressed a few harsh sobs. _It's just dark. It's just a dark room, and a dark concussion. Concussion room. Hospital? No...not in costume. And...ah, shit. Oh! Alfred will...soap...cursing...but concussion? Not okay. Not okay. Bruce..._

"Batman," he moaned into his radio. It clicked once, but that was all. Even the vague crackle of open air was missing, and he wondered once more if his hearing had been partially compromised. "Batman...speak up. I can't hear you." Talking made the artillery go off in his brain again, but he needed his father's voice. "...Batman? Help..."

He would have given almost anything for some sort of reassurance – the touch of firm but careful hands, a worried growl in reply to his SOS, even the maniacal laughter of whoever had bruised his brain and then tucked him away in this place – but none came.

There was no telling how much time passed before he stabilized on his own. As the hammering in his skull receded to where it had been when he'd woken, he let his fingers fall from his temples to his waist again. They ghosted over the pouches, traveling automatically to the one that held his tiny first-aid kit. There, in a mercifully intact blister pack, was a single prescription-grade painkiller. "Bottoms up," he winced, and swallowed it dry.

The importance of discovering where he was had been heightened by the failure of his radio transmission to garner a response, but he didn't dare move. He'd barely been able to remain sitting when the alarms in his head had been at their worst, and he could imagine what collapsing from his full height would be like. Even crawling would be pushing it, he felt, so he stayed put and waited for his medicine to work its magic. Minutes ticked by as he wondered whether anyone had noticed his absence yet. Would it take until dawn for Batman to realize something wasn't right? He didn't think so, not with how strict the man was about calling in regularly, but if it was a busy night...no, he couldn't think like that. Timmy hadn't looked pleased when he'd said he would catch up later; he would mark the hour no matter what else was going on, surely. Perhaps they were already searching...

The quiet pressed in on him, almost menacing in its weight. He began to count the seconds in an attempt to both keep himself centered and make a rough estimate of when it might be safe to try and move about. _One one-thousand...two one-thousand...three one-thousand...five one-...wait, no, that's wrong..._ He wrinkled his nose. _Can't even count right. Crap._

Unable to measure the time, he began to inventory his supplies. Weapons presented themselves, along with his basic survival items, empty tubes for evidence samples, and spare rope for his grappling gun. The gun itself was present, too, but without knowing what was available to be aimed at it would be foolhardy to use it. Beside it was another holster, this one much smaller, and as he touched the tool it held he froze. ..._I have a flashlight_, he thought numbly. _I've had my flashlight __this whole time__..._

He could hear Damian's derisive snort and see Tim's slow blinks of disappointment as he yanked the cool metal tube from its holder. Delirious to know whether or not he would be able to see the beam, he reached for the button at the bottom and pressed. "What the...?"

His finger had slipped into the body of the flashlight, filling the space where one of Bruce's special ultra-long-life batteries normally sat. After a brief spell of disbelief he sorted out what must have happened. There was no way that anyone other than another member of the family could have removed his belt or unfastened anything from it without getting a nasty shock, which was probably the only reason he was still wearing the assemblage. However, the end of the torch protruded from its harness in order to allow it to be switched on instantly and aimed from the hip. It was the sort of thing that most people would never notice, but his captor had evidently been clever enough to unscrew the entire cap and discard it along with the battery underneath.

He groaned. If nothing else he supposed that his discovery upped the odds that he hadn't been blinded by the bean-bag or whatever it was that had given him such a horrid headache – there would be no point in disabling his only light source if it was suspected that he'd been robbed of sight, after all – but that gave him surprisingly little comfort. _I've got to get out of here,_ he panted, his heart racing. _I've got to get home..._

Gritting his teeth, he succeeded in getting to his knees. One foot positioned itself beneath him, and a moment later he was standing. He stayed bent over double, trying to concentrate on his breathing as the world he couldn't see somehow managed to spin. Focusing on his body led him to the eerie realization that his head was throbbing in time with his pulse. He labeled the discovery as a distraction, and tried to push it aside. It was stubborn, though, and didn't want to go. Even worse, his frantic breaths were rising in volume, demanding his attention. In and out, in and out...rasp, rasp, rasp...good god, was that sound annoying. Perhaps, he mused, deafness was preferable in some cases.

_Find a wall, Dick,_ he encouraged as he snapped back into himself for a moment. _Just find a wall, and go from there. It's okay, just find a wall._

He obeyed, but his progression was slowed by the fact that he couldn't bring himself to straighten to his full height. Every time he tried to rise his stomach threatened to rebel, giving out unpleasant internal gurgles that he didn't think he ought to have been able to hear. Stuck in place, he stumbled along like a hunchbacked invalid, one hand thrust out before him lest he find the edge of the room with his face.

There was nothing for what felt like an eternity. When he finally brushed against something it only deepened his confusion. Long ridges ran parallel to one another for a ways before there was a gap, after which the lines switched direction. Up and down, left and right, up and down, left and right...he groped his way into a corner, and paused. He could tell already that the next wall was sculpted in the same way as the first, but he couldn't fathom why.

Giving out a great groan, he slumped into the niche where the weird panels met. The floor, his palms informed him, was just as strangely formed as the walls; only the taut chicken wire stretched over the peaks and valleys made it navigable. _Where __am__I?_ _This place is impossible..._

_This is easy, Grayson_, Damian's voice taunted. _Use your brain._

_I can't_, he insisted. _It hurts too much._

_Come on, Dick,_ Tim pitched in. _You know what's going on. You know where you are._

_Timmy...I don't...help me..._

_I'm not rescuing you until you figure it out, Nightwing,_ Batman said. _This is pathetic. You know why someone would build a place like this._

He did, he was sure he did, but he couldn't make the answer come to him. _Please,_ he begged. _Please, I just want something. Anything. Light, or noise, or...or something..._

But they were fading, pulling away from him in the blackness. Part of him knew that they weren't in the room with him, but he clawed after them anyway. It was only when he lost his balance and crashed down onto the unexplainable ground that he stopped moving. The pill he'd taken softened the fire that swelled in his head, but it could do nothing to fight his disorientation. _Stay focused, Grayson,_ he ordered himself as he scrabbled to hold on to reality. _Stay centered. Meditate. Calm down. Just stay focused..._

All he could focus on was the rush of blood in his veins, which had grown so loud during his imagined conversation that he would have sworn he was at the seashore. It would be nice to go to the beach some time, he thought, with Bruce and Babs and Alfred and the boys. The ebb and flow of the tide was so close that he could pretend they were there now if he wanted to, right now, together. It wasn't chicken wire etching marks in his cheek, it was sand. He was laying on the beach, and under the _whoosh_ of the water he could hear the steady pump that was pushing it back and forth. He wished it would shut up, the water and the pump both. If they would just be quiet, he could hear what Bruce was saying.

If they would just stop completely, he thought as a few tears slipped from beneath his clenched eyelids, maybe he could find some peace...

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Since today's chapter is a bit dark, I've also posted a fluffy little one-shot called 'Balance of Power'. It's part of the same timeline as this story and 'Tectonic Doom', so check it out if you haven't already. Happy reading!<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

Tim hung his costume haphazardly, slammed his boots down on their shelf, and then turned and walked out of the cave's changing area. He needed time alone after the hours they'd spent scouring the city with no success, needed time to think and process and turn over every stone again and again until it drove him insane. _People don't just vanish into thin air,_ he told himself as he blew past the computer in front of which Alfred still sat. Barbara had arrived in the few minutes that had passed since he'd first stormed by the worry-lined butler, but Tim, intent on escape, barely noticed her. _Except,_ he blew out a long breath once he'd reached the relative privacy of the stairwell, _when they do._

His emotions were an incoherent stew as he marched through the clock, down the hall, and up to the second floor of the house. The door to his bedroom clicked twice behind him, once when the latch slid home and again when he locked it in place. Shrugging off his pajamas, he headed for the bathroom. Along the way he kept his eyes averted from the pictures on his bookshelves and walls; too many of them featured the missing man, and he knew that catching sight of his face now would reduce him to frustrated tears.

The hottest water he could stand poured down his back a minute later. As shampoo soaked into his scalp and his muscles relaxed, his thoughts began to untangle. Jason had admitted to seeing Dick, he mused, but swore he'd had nothing to do with his disappearance. He wasn't sure it was the truth, but Batman believed it, and that counted for a fair bit. He pushed the second Robin aside reluctantly, then immediately ran into the same brick wall that had blocked him all night long. _If not Red Hood, then __who__?_

There were the usual suspects, of course, but thanks to the four-fold force that had been guarding the streets of Gotham for the past few years most of them were incarcerated. That didn't mean that they couldn't have orchestrated something from behind bars, of course – it wouldn't be the first time – but to what end? Batman didn't have the sort of authority to secure an early release or anything like that for them in exchange for his son's safe return. Besides, going after Nightwing was a proven way to get on the elder vigilante's shit list, and no one in their right mind wanted to be there.

_In their __right__ mind, _he dwelled. A frown appeared on his lips. Crazies abounded in the shadowy city they called home, but his mind flew straight to the top of the psycho pyramid. The Joker was the only person Tim knew of who would screw with Batman just for the hell of it. While he preferred to be close enough to hear his victims scream, he had worked long distance before. He'd been declared mad so many times even the authorities had lost count. Above all, he knew better than anyone that targeting Robins past and present was the quickest way to get his opponent's attention. Everything fit…

He shuddered, his skin breaking out in goosebumps despite the steam hovering in the air. _It's not him,_ he told himself fiercely as he flicked the lever that would fill the tub. Sinking down against the backrest as the water rose around him, he made excuses. The Joker wouldn't want to be filed away in Arkham when DaddyBats came looking for his bird, yet as of a few hours earlier the asylum was exactly where he'd been. The Joker was the sort to snatch people off of the streets, but he _wasn't_ the sort to not leave clues; he liked his criminal efforts to be recognized too much for that. The Joker didn't need the mystery to drag on for hours and days, not when he was so adept at torturing and killing in a short amount of-

"Stop it," he whispered. "It's_ not him._" There wasn't one scrap of evidence to suggest that the Joker had any involvement in Nightwing's disappearance, and that meant that it was a waste of brainpower to think about all of the horrible things he might have already done to him. Wrenching his train of thought back onto its track, he sank lower into the warmth and closed his eyes. _It could be anyone,_ he soothed his frazzled brain, which kept trying to fixate on the clown. Maybe it was an old opponent from Bludhaven, come to seek revenge for a past nabbing or looking to establish their reputation on the south side of the river. Maybe it was someone none of them knew, an aspiring crime boss who had decided that the best way to get ahead was to clear out those who might oppose him before he was a household name. Maybe it was something else entirely, something that was no more predictable than Tracy Collins' force field had been.

"Mmph," he huffed, aggravated. Without any concrete idea of where his brother had last been under his own control, the odds of finding good evidence were slim. 'East side of Gotham' was much too large of a search field when they had no clue what they were looking for. With no leads and a suspect list the size of a phone book, he was flummoxed. "Damn it, Dick," he cursed softly. "Why did you have to go and disappear so _completely_?"

He had no answer for that, either, and sitting in the bathtub mulling over all the things he didn't know was only making him angry. Finally he stood up, dried off, and stepped to the foggy mirror. A swipe with a towel showed him his own puzzled visage, at which he shook his head. _I shouldn't have let you take off by yourself,_ he blamed himself. _I should have known tonight was different. I should have insisted. I should have followed you. I should have-_

Sighing, he cut his pity-party off. _I should have told you I love you more often,_ he let one last lament through. _I'm sorry I didn't do that, Dick. Just...be okay, okay? Be okay and come home, and I swear I'll try harder on that front. _

Feeling drained, he scrubbed his hand across the top of his head. Wet clumps stood up in all directions afterward, and as he stared at his reflection a sad, flinching smile appeared. His hair looked like it did every time his big brother ruffled it, and his fingers rose automatically to smooth it out. He halted them halfway. Erasing the wildness felt dangerous for some reason, as if the state of his hair would affect the final outcome of the case. It was a stupid idea, and he didn't believe it in the least, but his hand fell back to his side anyway.

When he exited the bathroom, clad once more in his pajamas, it was to find Damian perched on the edge of his bed. "What are you doing in here?" he asked, his voice coming out a bit harsher than he'd meant it to. Despite their improved relations since the summer before, it was still habit for him to be suspicious of the boy, especially when he found him in his room without permission. "The door was locked for a reason, Damian."

"I know. I picked it for a reason." The teen's eyes were mildly bloodshot, and Tim couldn't help but wonder if he'd been crying. "I don't believe Red Hood's story," he went on bluntly. "Father won't listen, but...well, you didn't seem fully convinced before. Is that the case?"

"I..." For all that he'd opted to ignore Jason during his suspect countdown in the shower, the idea wasn't dead in his mind. "I have a hard time believing most of what comes out of his mouth," he confessed. "I'm biased. But...no, I don't really believe him."

"I don't know why Father trusts him. It's foolish." Extending one hand, Damian traced the spines of the guidebooks stacked on the nightstand. "...Father isn't normally an idiot."

"I guess it's a parental thing," Tim shrugged. Dropping into his desk chair, he swiveled to face his visitor. "I don't know. They say good parents never stop wanting to believe their children, even when past actions and evidence point suggest that dishonesty is more likely."

"Todd is _not _Father's child."

He stiffened. "What are you suggesting with that?" Damian hadn't implied that biology ranked him above the other three in a very long time, but that didn't necessarily mean the feeling had been extinguished. "If Dick and I are his children, then Jason is, too. As much as it pains me to say that, it's true."

"I'm not saying that you and Grayson aren't his children," the boy backtracked. His face pinched. "That isn't what I was referring to. What I meant was...well, he was Robin for the shortest amount of time, yes?"

"...Yeah, actually. I think you've finally outstripped him on that count, assuming that you include the months when Dick was Batman. Which I do." Damian might not have spent that year working with Bruce, but Tim knew that the loyalty he'd shown to the eldest bird had meant a lot to the billionaire. "Go on."

"So that, plus all the time he was dead, plus the way things have been between them since his return...how can he be anything but a stranger now?"

"Hmm..." He didn't answer for a long moment, busy trying to figure out what to say. _This is your territory, Dick,_ he grimaced. While the older man wasn't present to respond, thinking about him gave him an idea. "I guess...try looking at it this way; you and Dick have known each other for roughly the same amount of time as Jason and Bruce did before Jason was killed. Right?"

"Correct."

"So if something happened to you tomorrow – if you went through the same things Jason did, and had the same reactions – do you think Dick would eventually come to consider you a stranger? Or, even if he did," he went on, warming to the topic, "do you think he would stop loving you?"

Damian's mouth worked. "...No," he said quietly. "I don't. But Father is not Grayson. He lacks his penchant for forgiveness."

Tim had hoped he wouldn't have to reverse the analogy, but it seemed that he had no choice. "Okay, then flip it on its head," he directed, gripping the arms of his chair tightly. "If Dick...died...and then came back, and acted like Red Hood has...would you stop loving him?"

The teen pulled his legs up, wrapped his arms around them, and rested his chin on his knees. "…No. Of course not."

"Well...there you go, then, I guess." An uncomfortable silence hung between them. "I'm sorry," he apologized a moment later as a single tear rolled down his brother's cheek. "I wasn't trying to say that things won't be okay. Don't...don't take it like that."

"...You were just illustrating your point," Damian excused him hoarsely as he clawed the evidence of his distress away. "Over-illustrating it, maybe, but...I see what you mean. Despite all of the reasons that Father should take Todd's words with a grain of salt, he still cares for him and thus wants to believe him. I understand." He shifted his feet back to the floor and straightened his shoulders. "That just means that we are on our own in suspecting him, and will be on our own in looking for evidence against him."

"Whoa, now," Tim stopped him. "I agree with you that I don't believe Jason's story. But looking for evidence against him...I prefer to let the evidence lead me to the suspect. Searching for ways to make the evidence fit someone you already think might be responsible is a good way to pin the blame on the wrong guy. As little as I like Jason, focusing all of our efforts on him based on nothing but conjecture could easily cost Dick." _That's too high of a price. I won't pay it._

"Mm." It was an unhappy sound, but the boy looked pensive rather than mad. "Perhaps you're right."

"...Wait, you agree with me?" He'd expected a fight, or to be called an idiot at the very least. "You're just going to give in on methodology like that?"

Damian met his stare. "...Grayson says that when it comes to detective work you are second only to Father, and that sometimes you surpass even him. Besides, I think he would agree with you in this case. Finally...I don't believe Red Hood, but I am far more interested in finding Grayson than I am in seeing Todd forced to confess to his untruths. I don't want to waste time chasing the wrong people. However," he added forcefully, "I think we need to keep Todd high on our suspects list. _Very_ high."

For a long second Tim merely sat, stunned. "...You know something, Damian?" he commented finally.

"What is it?"

"You really _have _grown up a lot lately."

"...Oh." He averted his eyes. "I suppose there isn't much I could have done to stop it."

"No, but...it's good. It's nice. You're, ah...you're not quite so much of a demon child anymore."

"And that's a good thing?"

He sounded a little incredulous, and Tim had to chuckle. "Yeah. It's a good thing. As for Jason...let's keep him on the list." Batman's opinion counted for a lot, but he wasn't infallible, and he did have a soft spot for his Robins. After making that excuse for his change of heart, he stood up. "There's nothing we can do about him right now, though. Alfred and Bruce will both have cows if we try and go back downstairs without at least a few hours of sleep; let's knock those out so we can get to work."

Damian slid off of the bed and moved towards the door. "You don't _actually_ think you'll sleep, do you?"

"No. But I have to try." He paused. "I think Dick would want us to try. You know how he gets if he thinks we're hurting ourselves just to help him."

"He can get that way all he wants, so long as he's here for me to see him pout about it." The child hesitated with his hand on the knob. "...Drake?"

"Huh?"

"We're going to find him, right?"

He swallowed hard. "...Yeah, Damian. We're going to find him. And when we do," he promised, "you can tell him how we worked together on it."

"Mm...yes. He'll like that." A beat passed. "See you in a few hours, Drake." With that he departed, shutting the door firmly behind himself.

Tim gazed after him for a second, then turned back into the room. Sitting down in the spot Damian had just vacated, he considered the literature for the trip they were supposed to be taking in just a few short weeks. _Well, Dick_, he gave a bitter grin, _Damian and I's civil war seems to be over, at least. I just wish I didn't feel like a new conflict was about to begin..._


	6. Chapter 6

By the time he was suiting up for a third straight night of searching, Tim no longer felt even a shred of the confidence that had allowed him to tell Damian that everything was going to be all right.

The mood of the family was abysmal. He had never been in a house where someone was deathly ill, but he imagined that the atmosphere of the last two days was a close approximation. Barbara had basically moved into one of the spare rooms, and never seemed to lose the reddish rim around her eyes. Bruce and Alfred, both growing paler and more worry-lined with each passing hour, held whispered conversations that stopped every time someone else drew near. Damian, who had put on a hard look but couldn't quite hide the fear lurking in his gaze, bounced between his bed, the cave's computers, and a punching bag. Tim hated all of their tortured expressions, and wished he possessed Dick's ability to make people feel better during the worst moments of their lives.

Lacking that, he claimed a chair downstairs and proceeded to chase any and every possible lead he could find. The others all contributed to the search, of course, but only Bruce matched him for dedication. Neither bothered with their bedrooms, preferring to take their grudging rest breaks in the cave's medical section or, more often, slumped beside their keyboards. The worst part was that it was all of their ambition was useless; nearly forty-eight hours of intensive searching both on the streets and online had turned up nothing. There was just too much city to be scoured with zero evidence to point them in the right direction, and they all knew it.

At least, he thought as he fastened his boots, he didn't have to put on the facade that Barbara did. He and Damian were both in the middle of their wide-open summer breaks, and could thus stay home all day without raising any eyebrows. Alfred had given out that both Bruce and Dick had a nasty flu, and no one questioned it. The woman had neither a convenient schedule nor the level of job security that came with owning one's own company, though. Between that and the need to keep up the appearance of normalcy around Wayne Manor she was stuck going to work and trying to act as if everything was peachy.

Her difficulties didn't stop after five, either. Just a short while ago Tim had heard her mention that she'd had to lie to her own father, who had asked her via text message how things were going with her and Dick. As interested as Commissioner Gordon would no doubt have been to know that his daughter's beau had seemingly gone up in a puff of smoke, they didn't dare risk the police finding Nightwing instead of the civilian they would be searching for. She had simply replied that everything was good, and that she was spending a few days at the house with him before he left on his upcoming trip. It was a solid response, and it had earned her a nod of approval from the distracted billionaire, but Tim didn't envy her. _Thank you,_ he thought gratefully as he walked past her now, _for going out in public in our places. I don't think any of us could stand it right now..._

"...Ready?" Batman asked gruffly when he approached the car.

"Yeah. Where's Robin?"

"Here," the teen answered as he came up behind him. "Are we starting at the docks tonight?"

"...Yes."

The cowled man seemed vaguely uncomfortable, and Tim knew full well why that was. The docks were the only part of the east side other than Red Hood's territory that they hadn't yet scoured for clues; if they started there and found nothing, by the end of the night they would have to either backtrack or cross the line and risk angering Jason. A lack of results by the river would feed into his and Damian's shared suspicion that the second Robin had had a hand in the first's disappearance, but he suddenly found himself hoping that they were wrong. It would hurt Bruce immensely if they weren't, and there was no telling what sort of pain a betrayal like that would cause Dick.

He took a deep breath and straightened up. He could no more let Jason off the suspects list in order to save the others' feelings than he could bend his usual investigatory practices to ensure that he was made to look culpable. Whether Red Hood had been involved or not was something completely outside of his control, and all he could do now was work out the truth. Everything else – revenge, guilt, relief, whatever turned out to be most appropriate in the end – would just have to wait.

The radio remained silent as they drove into town, Batman in the car, the other two on their motorcycles. Even from a safe distance back and in the dusky late evening light Tim could see the tension in the boy's shoulders. The sight reminded him of the single tear that had fallen during their discussion the morning after Nightwing's vanishing act, and he sighed. _I'm sorry, Damian,_ his mouth tightened. At least last time he had been with Dick, able to measure his strength and take care of him when it flagged. Damian hadn't had that comfort, and now he'd been denied it again. It was no wonder that he wanted to go with them on the battlefields tour; he was probably afraid to let their elder brother out of sight for more than a few hours at a time. _You've got to be okay, Dick. We're all counting on it._

Rough orders were issued once they'd convened near the docks. They fanned out, searching everywhere, questioning contacts, and attempting to interrogate likely-looking lurkers. It was by no means an easy sweep, and they had to come together several times to clear out illegal operations taking place near the water's edge. None of them were particularly concerned about drug trafficking or black marketeers at the moment, but they could hardly pass by or, better still, waltz in and make a polite request to search the building for a missing person. As a result, there were red and blue lights flashing at multiple points along the quay when they finally gave each other long, hard looks and accepted the facts.

They had found nothing, and the only thing left to do was search Red Hood's domain.

"...Nervous?" Robin whispered as they waited behind the insurance sign that had hidden them two nights earlier.

Tim glanced towards where Batman stood at the other end of the billboard. "No," he lied. "Why, are you?"

"No. I'm eager to find proof that it was Red Hood and beat him into an assisted living home for the rest of his days." The boy paused. "I suppose I'm a bit...concerned...about what we might find otherwise."

"...Yeah." _If you've hurt him, Jason,_ he swore to himself, _Damian won't be the only one aiming to get a few good hits in. Assuming you were even involved,_ he corrected his assumption weakly. _Which I don't know yet. But still, you better hope you didn't hurt him. _

"Things look clear," Batman breathed. "We'll-"

"Problem," Tim cut him off, staring across the street.

"...What?"

"He's here." Jerking his chin, he pointed out the figure that had just separated from the shadows atop the building opposite them. "Hood." As he watched, the lone man raised one hand to shoulder height and beckoned them surreptitiously forward. "He's actually _inviting_ us?"

"That doesn't seem right," Robin echoed his thoughts.

"Mm. He may just have information."

"Someone's feeling optimistic tonight." The sarcastic comment slipped out before Tim could stop it. "...Sorry."

"Why?" Robin broke in. "You're right. It's foolhardy to think that he has anything helpful for us."

"Perhaps he doesn't," Batman rumbled, a dangerous edge underlining his voice. "But we'll never know if we don't go find out. If nothing else, this gives us a chance to engage and...neutralize...him if he intends to interfere with our search."

The younger pair exchanged a look. Red Robin shrugged. "He's right. You can't sneak up on somebody when you're zip-tied."

"Hmph. Well, let's go then," the boy pressed, whipping out his grappling gun. "If we're going to fight him, I want to get started."

"...Watch him close," Tim advised as he and Batman made to follow the teen, who was already halfway across the highway.

"I'll watch him _and_ Red Hood closely," the older man replied. "...Don't think I've forgotten what he has tried to do to you in the past. There's a reason I ask Nightwing to handle the things over there that I don't have time for."

He turned his head away, both warmed by that loving consideration and embarrassed by the fact that the others had to take on more work in a bad part of the city because of run-ins he'd had with Jason years earlier. "Um...thanks."

"Mm. Let's go."

The past and current Robins were measuring the other with wordless stares and crossed arms when they landed. Tim hung back slightly, keeping just close enough to hear as Batman stepped up between the entrenched pair. "Red Hood. What-"

"You need to come with me."

There was no visible change in Batman's posture, but Red Robin knew he'd just gone still beneath his armor. "...Do you have information?"

Jason stepped nearer. His bearing was menacing, but the words that came from behind his disguise were not. "I have something even better. I have one of the men who did it."

Tim's skin crinkled. This could be a trap, he debated, or it could be exactly what they'd been looking for. He leaned towards the former. It certainly wouldn't be unexpected for Red Hood to try and nab all three of them at once, especially if he'd already gotten Nightwing. Besides, he had to know that they were running out of places to search; if he didn't want them combing his territory, why _not_ lock them up?

The next words out of Jason's mouth confirmed his opinion. "You _all _need to come," he insisted, still leaning in as if he was making threats. "No one can stay behind."

"You and I will go alone," Batman countered immediately. "The others can wait on the far side of the highway. They'll stay out of your territory."

"No," Red Hood's head shook. "You _all_ have to come, or no deal."

"'Deal'?" Robin spat. "If you're trying to help us, then it's not a question of a _deal_."

"...Kid, you don't know what you're talking about. Batman...that's my offer. If you want to talk to the guy, you all three come with me, right now. Otherwise I'll keep him to myself."

For a moment the only sound was the backup beep of a nearby garbage truck making its rounds. "...You're certain you have the responsible party?"

"I have one of the people who actively kidnapped Nightwing. Now are you coming or not? I don't have all morning."

Tim held his breath. The part of him that would follow any lead straight into hell if it meant there was a chance of finding his brother begged Batman to take the bait. The rest of him actively rebelled, certain that they would be abducted and hurt – if not outright killed – without making any progress towards discovering Dick's whereabouts were they to follow Red Hood's lead.

"...We'll follow you."

"Idiotic," Robin muttered.

Jason didn't react to the teen's comment, but left his focus on Batman. "You'll leave my territory as if I've chased you off," he breathed. "Circle around and come in from the extreme southeast. There's an alley beside a blue building just off of Delaney, on Garrett. The building has a barbershop on the first floor." He paused. "Meet me in that alley in twenty minutes, and I'll take you to the guy. But if you're not all three there, we're done. Got it?"

"...Understood. Twenty minutes."

"Right." Backing off without shaking his warning pose, Red Hood made his way to the edge of the roof and leaped out of sight.

"...Batman," Tim started when they were alone.

"We don't have a choice," the man answered his unasked question. "There's nothing else for us to do."

"That's...not what I was going to say," he objected, blushing. _It's just what I was thinking._

"What _were_ you going to say, then?" Robin queried.

"I just thought...well, maybe you should tell base where we're going. You know...better safe than sorry." Bruce had forbidden them from informing the JLA of what was going on, but if they went into Jason's territory and vanished Alfred was sure to ignore the order and phone Superman.

"I agree," the teen piped up again. "That way if our signals go out like Nightwing's did someone will know roughly where we are."

Batman considered them for a second. Then his lip twitched upward on one side as if he'd seen something that pleased him. Tim wasn't sure why, but somehow that little hint of a smirk made him feel safer. "Very well," the cowl dipped in a nod. "I'll call in before we cross back on Delaney. Now let's go. We have a suspect to interrogate."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: I will try my very best to post on Sunday, but I have a house guest this weekend so no guarantees. If I miss Sunday the next chapter will come out on Tuesday. Happy reading!<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: I know I said that if I missed posting yesterday I wouldn't put this up until tomorrow, but I changed my mind. Take this long Jason-centric chapter as my apology for the delay. Happy reading!**

* * *

><p>Red Hood shuffled his feet impatiently in the darkened alleyway off Delaney Street. Nineteen minutes had elapsed since he'd left the others at the edge of his territory, and while he had no doubt that they would come he wished they would hurry up about it. He'd enumerated his contracts with 'no Batman' clauses in them while he'd been searching for clues two night earlier, and had found the number to be much higher than he'd initially remembered. If he was seen leading the cowled man around as if they were working together – which they weren't, he insisted to himself – it would lead to a fan-full of shit that he did not want to deal with.<p>

Before he could begin to run down the list of pseudo-allies and informers he would lose if word got out about tonight's rendezvous, three pairs of boots touched down nearby. Jerking his head, he gestured them forward. The low, rusted door whose lock he had picked when he arrived opened at his touch. Thanks to the routine maintenance he gave the portal, there was no hint of sound as it swung inward. He waved them past him and inside, then paused. The rooftops and windows were empty; it seemed as if he had gotten away with smuggling three unwanteds into his zone of control. With a private sigh of relief, he ducked in after them and shut out the street.

A faint bulb flickered on above him once the door was closed. He let his eyes skate over the figures he'd brought in and wondered once more if he was making a mistake. _I'm not helping __them__, _he swallowed. _I'm helping Nightwing._ It wasn't much better, but he could live with that more easily than he could with the idea of giving assistance to Batman or one of the replacements. "Down," he ordered. "All the way."

They descended, Batman at the front, Red Hood in the rear. He could see how tight Red Robin's shoulders were, and the sight made him smirk. _Glad to see you finally learned to be afraid of me. Just don't forget it. _His smile drooped into a frown as Dick's voice crowded his head. 'What did he ever do to you, little brother?' the eldest had asked him long ago, his expression confused and saddened as he'd taken in Tim's battered form and the blood dripping from Jason's knuckles. '...No one loves you any less because he's here now, too. I know you know that. C'mon...can't we just all play nice?'

He couldn't, though. Part of him knew that he didn't hate Tim for himself, even if the younger man was a bit of a goody-two-shoes, but rather for what he represented. _I hadn't been gone for six months, and you were already training to wear my mask. _His lips twisted. That really wasn't Tim's fault – who could blame him for wanting to be Robin, after all? – but rather Batman's. _How could you let him take my place so fast? _His gaze flickered to the pointed ears leading them deeper and deeper beneath Gotham. _You enacted no revenge for what happened to me, and you let some...some __nerd__ have my place without even a decent period of mourning. _It was like he'd never mattered to the man...

They were all thoughts he'd had a million times before, but that didn't make them any less bitter now. Still, this wasn't the time to act on the ire that smoldered eternally in the pit of his stomach, so he repressed the urge to kick Red Robin in the back of the knees and send him tumbling down the stairs. There wouldn't have been a good opportunity to do it anyway, as the little one kept sending glances back at him. _Smart brat,_ he grumbled, annoyed but able to appreciate suspicion in one so young. _I suppose that's why partly why Nightwing likes you as much as he does..._

The steps ended at a long hallway. "Go left," he directed. Batman paused, then did as he'd been told. There were puddles underfoot now, invisible against the dark concrete. They made it impossible to keep silent unless one had the path memorized, and that was exactly the way Jason preferred it. In the event that anyone ever penetrated his subterranean interrogation chamber while it was in use he would have ample warning of their approach, time to prepare to fight or a head start to his flight. That had never happened, but it paid to be prepared and to keep one's secrets secret. With that in mind he joined the others in splashing through a few pools as if he hadn't known they were there, not wanting his soundless steps to give away his familiarity with the route.

A wide room opened up before them. Against one wall lay a bruised and battered man, his eyes popping above a dirty gag as he watched them emerge from the dark tunnel. Soaked with nervous sweat and a fair amount of his own blood, he shivered in the dank air. The way his arms and legs were hog-tied behind him made him look a bit ridiculous, but the obvious break in the bones above one bared wrist verified the scene's reality.

Batman stopped and looked back at Red Hood. Sensing a hint of judgment in his hidden stare, Jason pushed roughly past him and approached the prisoner. "This is Nate Westing," he sneered. "Don't pity him just because he looks like the pile of trash that he is."

"What did you _do_ to him?" Red Robin asked, sounding a bit appalled.

"What needed to be done." The miens of the others remained stony, and he scoffed. "Weren't you listening before? He's part of the reason Nightwing is missing!" Drawing out a knife, he slashed through the cloth cutting across Westing's mouth. The man jerked in fear as the blade went past his face, and as a result a thin line of red welled in its wake. A cry escaped him. "Stop it," Jason commanded. "Tell them what you told me." All that came was more whimpering. "Tell them," he threatened, "or you're useless to me. You know I don't have time for uselessness"

"No! No," a pathetic whine sounded. "Please...I..." The beaten figure's feverish gaze fell onto Batman. "Please, Mr. Batman...if I tell you...if I tell you what I know...you won't let him kill me, will you? I swear, it's not my fault, I was just doing my job, I got a baby to feed and I can't...please, don't let him kill me!"

An uncomfortable beat passed. When Batman made no response, Jason snorted. "Whose territory do you live in, Nate? _Mine_. Not his, _mine. _He has no control over what happens here tonight, or tomorrow night, or every other night of your life. The only people here who can affect that are me...and you. So start talking, or there won't be any future nights for you to worry about. Got it?"

"I...I didn't mean...it was just a job..."

_"Talk!"_

"My baby's been sick," Westing blubbered. "I needed money for medicine. I've got a job, but it's barely enough to live on. I needed more, for my little girl. Friend of mine...friend of mine said he could hook me up. Said it'd be real easy work, just one night. All I had to do was carry something from the roof of a building down to the street and put it inside the back of a truck. Didn't say what it was, but the pay was good, you know? So me and another guy, we went and waited on the top floor of this place, like we'd been told. Other guy had a radio. We waited a while, then there was this little _thump_, like somebody'd dropped something on the roof. The radio went off, and we went up.

"I didn't know we was supposed to move a person," he appealed, his words watery. "I almost backed out, but...I needed that money, and I was afraid they'd shoot me. They all had...guns..." He peeked at the pistols adorning Red Hood's costume and gulped. "I didn't have nothing, you know? I was just there to move things. But Nightwing...I wasn't expecting to be grabbing hold of his ankles and carrying him down the stairs. Wasn't expecting that at all. I-"

"You recognized him?" Batman interjected.

"...Seen him around. Reckon everybody knows all you all, you know? Even if you don't come around here as often as-"

"Keep going," Jason snarled. _Don't you dare tell them that you've seen him around here before. _If the fact that Dick came by on occasional visits wasn't already known to Batman, he didn't want it to become so.

Westing flinched. "Uh...well, I knew who he was, anyway. So we carried him, and we put him in the truck. Except it wasn't a truck, really, it was more like an ambulance. There was words on the side, but I couldn't read them. Didn't recognize the colors, neither, but the inside sure looked like an ambulance, had the bed and all that. Thought it was funny there was no one in the back with him. No one even came out of the front to help. We just chucked him back there and shut the doors. Then it left, and I got my money and left. That's...that's all I know, honest. Honest, that's it, so please, don't kill me-"

"Was he alive?" Batman queried unsteadily.

Jason's throat tightened. He hadn't dared ask that when he'd first interrogated Westing; had the answer been no there wouldn't have been anything but a body left for cross-examination, and that wouldn't have helped his credibility any. He was determined that when Nightwing was found no one would be able to say that he didn't keep his promise, so he'd bit his tongue. Now he leaned forward, curious. _Say yes. Don't tell me the risks I've taken lately have all been in vain. Don't tell us that he's dead, you bastard._

"Well I ain't no doctor, Mr. Batman, but...I don't think he was dead. They kept saying to hurry, like they wanted to get him somewhere before he woke up."

"'They'...who hired you?"

It hadn't seemed possible for the man bound on the floor to grow any more frightened-looking, but he managed it. "I...please, I can't...they'll kill me..."

"They're not here right now, are they?" Jason leaped back in. "But _I_ am. Answer the question." Knowing that Nightwing had been carried downstairs unconscious and put in the back of something that may or may not have been an ambulance told them almost nothing about where he might be. They needed more, and he would get it one way or the other.

"Oh, god...please...I've got my baby to take care of, please, she needs me-"

"Answer. The. Question."

Westing burst into tears. "He's gon' kill me, don't you see? He's...gonna...gonna kill me..."

"_Who_?!"

"I-ivory J-j-jack. Ivory Jack's the one that paid me. He...he was the boss."

Jason's eyes narrowed. Ivory Jack was a procurer, and a good one, but he wasn't the sort who came up with jobs of his own. If Ivory Jack was involved, then this had been a scheme with more than a couple levels of control. "Who hired him?"

"...He didn't say."

Red Hood launched a boot into his captive's side. "I didn't ask who he said hired him, did I?"

"N-no. But..."

"But _what_?"

"I can't say it. I _won't_ say it. It ain't worth it."

"Really?" Moving before the men massed behind him could react, Jason slashed through his prisoner's binding, yanked him to his feet, and pressed a gun to the underside of his chin. "How about now?"

"Hood!" a rough warning sounded from over his shoulder. He ignored it.

"...No, sir." Westing's mouth trembled as he refused. "I can't."

"You already gave up Ivory Jack. You're already in shit with the people who set this up. You don't want to be in shit with me, too."

"I know I told on Ivory Jack. I know he's gonna want to kill me if he finds out. But..." A few fresh tears rolled down the man's swollen cheeks. "But you and Ivory Jack, you'll be kind. You'll kill me quick, if you decide to kill me. Jack's boss...Jack's boss don't make anything quick. Jack's boss – Jack's boss' boss, more likely – he likes to make people scream." He shook his head. "I ain't going out like that, all cut to ribbons or lit on fire or fed to dogs by a crazy man. If I'm gonna die, I'd rather it was a quick, easy gunshot. So if that ain't enough for you, Mr. Red Hood, then I guess you'd better shoot me. Least I know you won't go after my baby girl when I'm gone. You ain't like that; you leave the kids alone. You let them grow up. She'll be all alone in the world, but at least she'll be alive. Can't say as he'll leave her that way if he finds out I said his name to you. No, sir; I won't say it out loud."

For a moment Jason didn't move. No further protest came from the figures to his rear, but he slowly let Westing fall back down to the damp floor anyway. "...You're sure about the person who hired Ivory Jack?"

"I'm sure I don't want him to be the one to kill me."

He studied him for a second. _Fucking poverty,_ he winced. If Westing had had the money for his baby's medicine, would he have ever gotten mixed up with Ivory Jack? He clearly knew a fair bit about the movers and shakers of Gotham's underground, but that was to be expected when one lived their whole life in the same neighborhoods as gangsters, thieves, henchmen, and procurers. This man had never crossed his radar before tonight; he was no criminal. He was just a man trying to get along as best he could in a cruel world that had offered him no advantages in life.

It was almost enough to make him feel sorry for having put a gun to his head.

Now came the hard part, though. How could he possibly be allowed to live? He would be a loose end, a mouth through which Batman's presence tonight might be made known. It could only lead to trouble, trouble much worse than what would happen if he blew off an innocent man's head in front of three sworn non-killers. His hand twitched upward a few inches, then fell back to his side. _He has a baby,_ he thought. _He said she'd be alone without him. This isn't her fault any more than it is his._ He grimaced and turned his pistol around in his grip. "When you wake up," he growled, "you're not going to remember any of this. Right?"

A gleam of hope came into the man's gaze. "Not a thing," he swore eagerly.

"You got mugged. You don't know by who, just some guys. Several of them. They beat you up, took your money, and left you on the ground. That's all you know. Got it?"

"I got it, Mr. Red Hood. I got it. Thank you-"

His grateful words cut off as he was smacked into unconsciousness. "...Don't make me regret this, Westing," Jason whispered as he wiped a bit of blood from the butt of his weapon and replaced it in its holster. "Just don't."

Batman was beside him suddenly. "You won't," he said. There was something strange in his voice that a little part of Jason desperately wanted to believe was pride. Their shielded stares met for an instant, and if a hand had landed on his shoulder just then he wasn't sure he would have shaken it off. "We'll help you carry him out to the street."

"No," he refused roughly, turning his head away. "No. You've heard what you came here to hear; now get out of my territory."

"Hood-"

"I said get out! Don't you have other places to be?!" Batman had surely discerned who Westing had been talking about with his comments about dying horribly; what was he still doing here after all of that? _Don't let that fucking clown do to Dick what he did to me,_ he begged. Even if that was the only thing that might truly make his former mentor regret not having killed the Joker in revenge years earlier, it was too high of a price. _Not Dick._ "Get out!"

"...Fine. We're going." He turned away.

"Batman!"

The cowled figure halted. "...Yes?"

"Don't...don't take the stairs. Go straight down the tunnel until you come to a left turn. Take it, and the third pipe on the right after that will come up on your side." He paused. "...Don't come into my zone again. You're not welcome here."

"...I understand. And Hood?"

"What?"

"I meant what I said before. You won't regret this."

With that he was gone, stalking past the other two and into the dark corridor. Red Robin hesitated for a moment, then followed Batman out. When only Robin remained, Jason snapped impatiently. "Well? What is it?"

The teen tilted his head to one side. "...You're lucky it wasn't you who did it, Hood," he said flatly. "Assuming that this story checks out...be glad it wasn't you." Then he retreated without turning his back and melted away into the shadows.

When he was sure he was alone, Jason slumped against the wall and sank down to the floor. _I__ did what I could, Dick. I helped. I kept my promise. _He'd risked everything tonight, and even with the others on their way back to central Gotham there was still a good chance that he would lose his bet. Despite that, he couldn't quite manage to regret having made the wager. They'd gotten a lead on Nightwing out of it, after all, and Batman…maybe that really _had_ been pride in his voice.

A tiny sob escaped him. _Goddamn this family,_ he choked. _Goddamn this city. _Hot liquid fled towards his chin_. Goddamn the Joker. _His fist bounced off of the stone beneath him._ Just...goddamn all of it. Goddamn it __all__..._


	8. Chapter 8

As he stepped out of the tunnels and back onto the streets of his city, Batman was torn. It had been bittersweet to share the interrogation of Nate Westing with Red Hood, but he wasn't sure the beaten man's assumptions were completely accurate. Simply put, none of what had happened so far fit with the Joker's usual M.O. It wasn't impossible that the clown had some unknown motive this time that would be better served by his not announcing his crime all across Gotham, but the idea was a troubling one. The psycho was unpredictable enough as it was; the last thing they needed was for him to start changing how he acted after committing a fresh felony.

"...Batman?"

He turned to find both boys watching him. "Up," he answered. A few seconds later the trio stood atop an apartment building. "…What were your thoughts on what we heard?"

"You ask that like you're uncertain of your own opinion," Robin leveled, crossing his arms.

A grimace appeared beneath the cowl. "...That's because I am, Robin."

"Westing was pretty clear in his fingering of...of the Joker," Red Robin contributed. A visible shiver ran through him. "But to be honest, I'd kind of already ruled him out. I mean, _parts_ of it fit, but plenty of others just...don't."

"Mm. Agreed." He turned back to his youngest. "Robin?"

"It's convenient, isn't it?"

"...What is?"

"The Joker, and Westing. We spent days searching this entire half of the city," Robin waved one hand to indicate the sprawl around them, "and found nothing. Red Hood poked around in his little corner a bit and came up with not just evidence, but with a lackey who was not only a part of the job but also knows who was in charge three levels above him? Then the villain in question just _happens_ to be the person that Hood has the most reason to hate?" He paused. "Don't you think that's a little too perfect?"

"...It _is_ awfully convenient," Red Robin agreed after a moment's silence.

A surge of annoyance left Batman briefly wishing that the pair before him hadn't started working together so much better of late. "Are you accusing Red Hood of something?" he queried bluntly, matching Damian's posture. _He wouldn't. He wouldn't make Dick vanish, and he sure as hell wouldn't hand him over to the Joker._ It just wasn't possible.

The other two exchanged a look. "I don't know, Batman," Tim confessed. "Part of me hopes that he had nothing to do with it, but the rest of me is thinking that everything we just heard from Westing was too easy. That and the fact that the only evidence so far has popped up in Hood's territory...it doesn't look good."

"Yeah," Robin nodded. "Why was Nightwing even there the other night in order to be kidnapped? Why didn't Hood know what was happening in his own area?"

"No one knows absolutely everything that's going on at any given moment, Robin," he ground out. _He wouldn't, _he insisted again._ Not to Dick. He didn't even kill Westing tonight, so how can I believe that he would betray your brother – __his__ brother – like you're suggesting? _A wave of pride washed over him again, just as it had down below when no gun blast had sounded. For all that the witness had been a mere pawn in someone else's much larger game, he had expected Red Hood to try and kill him anyway for his admitted involvement in Nightwing's disappearance. The fact that he hadn't spoke volumes. Now if he would just stop shooting the actual criminals, as well...

"No, but it _is_ weird," Tim pressed, snapping him back to the present. "He saw Nightwing, then told him to leave and left him alone to go away on his own? He didn't stay and watch to make _sure_ he left? That's not Hood's way, Batman."

It wasn't a bad point, and neither was what Robin had said about Westing's knowledge. Still, it might mean nothing more than that Jason had had some bad luck followed by some good luck. "...I don't know the answers to the questions you've raised," he admitted tersely, "but I know how to verify Westing's story."

"…You're not going to Arkham, are you?"

"Not yet, no." To take their witness at his word and run straight to question the Joker would only tip his hand. Most of the villain community still had no idea that Nightwing was missing in action, and going to the Joker was the fastest way to ensure that _everyone_ knew. While it would have been faster to jump straight to the top, it was safer – both for them and for Dick – to take one rung of the ladder at a time. "...We're going to find Ivory Jack first."

"All of us?" Robin demanded. "Now?"

"Yes. Why?"

"...No reason."

It was a lie, but he let it slide. Damian, he knew, was as eager to take his frustration out on someone as he was. Jason had gotten all of the necessary blows – and a few more besides – in on Nate Westing before they'd arrived, but Ivory Jack...Ivory Jack was fresh. Even if it turned out that he'd had nothing to do with Nightwing's disappearance, he was a hardened criminal whom Batman had never yet come across engaged in a completely legal activity. As such, there was no reason to think that the teen's desire to punch somebody would go unfulfilled tonight. "Then let's go," he directed, and they took off anew.

The procurer was known to work in all parts of Gotham, but he had two favorite environs in particular. The first was the quarter in which new arrivals to the country tended to settle; the second was the glitzy club district where he sold off the girls he had snatched from the first area. Rather than trying to search both sections of the city for him tonight, Batman made a call. "...Oracle."

"I'm here, Batman," came back quickly. "What can I do?"

He winced at the hoarseness in her voice, evidence of recent tears. She would no doubt welcome the distraction of a meaningful task, but he still felt bad for interrupting her in the middle of her upset. "I need you to find Ivory Jack for me."

"Ivory Jack?" A trace of steel had slipped into her tone, and he could imagine what she was thinking. People who were taken by the slippery trader were often never heard from again no matter _who _worked the case. Her mind had probably conjured up a vision of her boyfriend bound and drugged in the bottom of a cargo ship bound for some foreign locale, and he couldn't blame her for her ire.

"Yes. Ivory Jack. But I don't know for _sure_ that he was involved, Oracle," he warned, "so don't jump to conclusions."

"Sure. That should be easy, right?" The sound that came from her throat was half derisive laugh and half sob. "...Give me a minute. I'll see who I can get a hold of."

"Right." They glided westward through Gotham while he waited, drawing ever closer to their target's backyard. As the line stayed silent, a creeping despair came over Bruce. What if Ivory Jack _didn't _prove to be part of the scheme? What if he then went to the Joker directly only to find that his arch-nemesis was, for once in his life, completely innocent? The trail was far from hot right now, but at least after Westing's story there was _some_ heat in it; if that faint promise vanished, what would he do?

It was an impossible thought, and it made his chest ache. _We're looking, chum,_ he bit back a pained moan. _Don't give up, whatever's happening. We'll find you. We're trying. Just hold on..._

"Batman."

His breath caught as Barbara spoke in his ear. "Do you have him?"

"He's at Pegasus. My contact says he came in about an hour ago and that he seems to be keeping a low profile."

"Muscle?" It would be much easier to corner the man if he was without his usual bodyguards.

"There's a guy with him, but he's not sticking terribly close. Might just be a bulky friend."

"Good. Batman out." He hesitated, though. "...Try not to worry, Oracle."

"Yeah," she chuffed wryly. "I'll stop worrying as soon as you do. Deal?"

"...Mm." The connection closed and he shifted direction, fine-tuning his route now that he had a specific destination. In five minutes they were touching down on a building whose walls vibrated with the bass thumping away inside. "He's here," he informed the boys. "Per Oracle."

"So let's go get him," Robin urged.

"No. We have to wait for him to come out on his own."

"But-!"

"But nothing, Robin," he cut him off.

"Storming in and grabbing him might alert others that we're looking for something – or someone – in particular," Tim explained. "Plus, if he tries to defend himself, or if his bodyguards step in, a lot of civilians could end up hurt. It's not worth that."

"Really?! Nightwing's _life_ isn't worth that?!"

Batman opened his mouth to step to Red Robin's defense, but the younger man beat him to it. "Nightwing wouldn't want innocent people to get hurt because of the tactics we used while we were looking for him," he answered slowly, a hint of hurt underlining his words. "Besides...I didn't mean it that way."

Robin slumped slightly. "...Yeah. Okay."

"...Robin," Batman began when the moment seemed to have passed, "you'll watch the front. Work your way around to the other side of the street; there's a good view from the liquor store. Stay out of sight, and radio if you see him. Red Robin-"

"The back," he nodded. "From the radio station roof." A faint blush spread across his cheeks as the other two stared at him. "...Nightwing and I come here sometimes to bust date-rapists. He's really good at telling from a distance when a girl's more than just drunk."

Batman hadn't known that about his eldest, and hearing it now made an acute pang of absence go off in his stomach. "Mm," was all he could get out.

"Where will _you_ be?" Robin asked him finally.

He cleared his throat. "Everything else on the ground level is an emergency exit. If he goes out of one of those, we'll hear the alarms. There's a secret entrance in the basement that Ivory Jack is familiar with, though; I'll wait there in case he decides to leave discreetly."

They split up without another word. It took Batman almost no time to infiltrate the parking garage to which the nightclub's extra door led, and he hunkered down to wait. _All right, Jack,_ he growled. _Party time's over._

The procurer evidently agreed, because less than five minutes later he stepped into the covered lot. Raising a cigarette to his mouth and preparing to light it, he turned to say something to the beefy fellow beside him. "Let's-"

His sentence broke off as a Batarang ricocheted off of the guard's forehead. "Shit!" he exclaimed instead, ducking as it pinged in his direction. "I give up, I give up!"

Batman stepped out of the shadows cautiously. Ivory Jack wasn't known for giving in without a fight; for him to throw up his hands in submission so easily was worrisome. Even worse was the friendly smile that spread across his lips as the black-clad figure drew up to him. "Hey, Batman," he greeted. "You didn't have to knock him out, you know. He'd have listened if I'd told him to leave things be and keep his mouth shut."

"What are you doing here tonight?"

"Me? Just having a good time, man. I like to dance with beautiful women." He winked. "But you already knew that."

Batman leaned in and let his voice drop. "Is that the same alibi you want to use for where you were two nights ago?" he whispered in a dangerous, silky tone.

"Heh." Jack's smile melted into a nervous little grin. "No. I was taking care of some business then."

"Business. No girls? You're sure?"

"No, man, there were no girls involved."

It was Batman's turn to smirk. "...I know there weren't. You were moving different cargo then, weren't you? Riskier cargo."

A beat passed. "Ah, hell..." Ivory Jack seemed to deflate. "Look...I didn't ask to get caught up in the middle of this shit, okay? It was supposed to be an easy-peasy job. Shoot him, toss him in the van, get a fat paycheck. End of story. But that's not what it's turned out to be. Not at all." He shook his head. "I don't get paid enough for this garbage, man."

Batman was momentarily frozen, astounded by what he'd just heard. For one thing, he had only half-expected Ivory Jack to know anything at all about what had happened to Nightwing, and he certainly hadn't anticipated getting verification one way or the other out of him so fast. For another... "'Shoot?_'_" he repeated. Westing hadn't mentioned any blood, but that didn't mean anything. His eyes grew hot. _Dick...baby...no... _"You've never been a murderer before. What changed?"

"Hey, now, I didn't kill _anyone_!" the man objected. "Oh, no! You can bust me until the day I die for other things, but murder...I have people for that, thanks. _I _wasn't the one who shot him; one of Nona's guys did that. All I did was hire a couple carriers and follow instructions."

"Shot him with what?" His fingers curled into the neck of Ivory Jack's shimmery shirt, pinching a bit of the skin underneath in order to make it clear that he wasn't screwing around. _Tell me where my son is, you fucking low life. Tell me he's alive._

"Ow!" Jack reached for the back of his head, which thanks to Batman's overzealous shaking had just connected with the wall. "They used a beanbag, all right? We heard he was due to show up on this roof, so we waited. The guys in the other building – Nona's guys – cued us when it was time. One of them popped him in the head with the beanbag and knocked him out cold. After they made sure he was still breathing they told my guys to carry him downstairs and load him. That's all there was, man. I never even _touched_ him!"

"Where was he taken?"

"I don't know. Nona didn't even know. She was just in charge of the gun crew and of hiring movers."

Nona, Nona...why didn't that sound familiar in the least? He knew every petty criminal in Gotham, or so he'd thought, but not her. He was missing something, something important, and every passing moment convinced him that it was essential knowledge. He hated to let someone like Ivory Jack know that he wasn't omniscient, but if Nona was the next piece in the puzzle he didn't have a choice. "Who is she? Nona?"

"Uh..."

There is was again, that same balking fear that had appeared on Nate Westing's face an hour earlier. "Who is she?!" he barked, giving Jack another hard jostle.

"She was working for him, okay?! All I know other than that are rumors! God..."

"Working for _who_?!"

"The...the Joker! Fuck..."

Batman's grip loosened at the shock of hearing the worst of Westing's accusations be backed up. Then his fingers tightened again, and he slammed the procurer back into the wall again. "You'd better be absolutely certain of what you're telling me," he rumbled, holding the man off of the ground.

"I...I am!" Jack gasped. "She just got here a few weeks ago, all right? I heard something about her being a prisoner over in Europe somewhere. She was in one of those places that got evacuated because of all the earthquakes and nuclear crap that went down over there last year, and I guess she escaped in the middle of all that or something. Anyway, people...people say she's been a fan of the Joker's for a long time, right? She liked his style or something, I don't know. But she got here, and now...I mean, she's working for him, but she doesn't seem to be so into him anymore. It's just…" He shifted uncomfortably. "…People talk, you know? You hear things."

"Things like?"

"Things like…like she thinks she can run Gotham better than the Joker. But don't quote me on that, okay? I didn't ask to be in the middle of this. If there's a war brewing…I don't want to be on _anybody's _bad side. I just want to move my stuff and keep my head down until it's over. You know me, man, you know all I really care about is my work. I don't want to fuck that up. Get it?"

He released him slowly and took a step back. "…Tell me," he breathed. "Which of them do you fear more? The Joker…or Nona?" Just how big of a storm, he wondered, was brewing in his city?

Ivory Jack looked up from where he'd crumpled to the asphalt. One shaking hand rose to sweep back through his platinum-blond hair, which was now drenched with rank fear-sweat. A trembling, nauseated smile crept across his features as he answered. "Personally, Batman," he confessed, "I'd prefer to keep the devil I know." He paused. "…Wouldn't you?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: My apologies for the gap on Friday; I was feeling under the weather and didn't get much writing done. We should be back on track now, though. Happy reading!**

* * *

><p>As soon as Barbara had seen the faces of the returning search team, she'd known something was terribly wrong. Each word of the explanation that followed their arrival only made the chill in her heart deepen, and by the end of it she was on the verge of tears again. <em>Not here,<em> she told herself sternly. The boys were doing everything they could to find Dick; breaking down would only make them feel bad.

It took a great deal of effort, but she managed to hold back her emotions. A moment of numb quiet hung around the group when the last of the tale had been told. Eventually Batman's heavy steps broke the silence, echoing after him as he started towards the changing room. Tim and Damian followed, their lips pressed into tight, worried lines. It was only when Alfred, who had woken from a brief nap when the car and bikes had pulled in, was the sole remaining person in the room with her that she let out a sigh.

A hand landed on her shoulder and squeezed gently. "Try not to imagine the worst-case scenario, Miss Barbara," the butler comforted. "In my experience, all that ever does is work a person into a frenzy that can derail good decision-making. Besides, more often than not it turns out that you've wound yourself up for nothing, as the worst-case is not what ends up happening."

"...No offense, Alfred," she craned her head to look at him, "but that's extremely difficult advice to follow."

It was his turn to let out a sigh. "...Yes, I know," he agreed ruefully. "I'm having a fair bit of trouble with it myself right now. If it was anyone but the Joker..."

"Yeah." The sound of a single gunshot rang in her memory. On its heels came a flash of agony, the spread of wet heat across her back, and a strange lack of feeling below her waist. She shuddered. _Don't let him do to you what he did to me, Dick. Just...just don't._ "Anyone but him."

"I must confess," Alfred, unaware of her innermost thoughts, went on, "that I have made a concerted effort for most of my adult life to avoid wishing that other people were dead. But the Joker...suffice it to say that I would be hard pressed not to exclaim with joy were he to suffer a sudden and lethal heart attack."

"You wouldn't be the only one looking to throw a party that day."

"No, I don't suppose that I would be." His fingers tightened on her shoulder again. "...Well. I'd better go and check on the others. Will you be heading upstairs now that they're home? You've certainly earned a break."

"...I don't know," she shook her head. "I feel like I should stay down here and keep working. I'd like to find out who Nona is, for starters." Her eyes narrowed. "And I _really_ want to know how she slipped under both my radar and Batman's. That takes talent."

"It does indeed. However, it takes rest for any of us – this Nona person included – to operate at our full capabilities. You've been awake for nearly a full day now," his voice softened. "You really ought to lie down for a while."

She _was_ tired, but how could she still her fears enough to let sleep come? Alfred had a point, though. Exhaustion had caused her to overlook things before, and she didn't dare take the risk this time. Not when it was Dick's life on the line, and especially not when he was in the hands of the Joker. "...I'll try, Alfred," she gave in. "I don't think it will work, but...I'll try."

"Very good. Since you're off of work today, would you like me to wake you when I rouse the others for lunch?"

"Sure," she allowed. "If I don't see you before then."

"...Of course, Miss Barbara." With that the butler turned and headed towards his charges in the changing room. "...Stubborn," she heard him mutter as he went.

_I am,_ she thought, smiling slightly as she started towards the elevator. _So is Dick, and that might be our saving grace when it comes to the Joker._ _It had better be._ For her to spend the rest of her life sitting down was one thing, but she couldn't imagine how her ever-moving boyfriend would cope with a similar disability. All she knew was that it wasn't a struggle she wanted to watch.

The doors slid back a minute later and let her out onto the second floor. Still lost in thought, she went straight past the room she had taken over and rolled on towards the stairs. When Bruce's chamber lay to her right and Dick's to her left, she stopped. It was probably foolish to enter the missing man's most personal space when she was already struggling to keep her concern in check, but she eyed the knob anyway. After a brief hesitation, she decided that a quick visit couldn't possibly make her feel any worse and reached out to open the door.

The slight dents and wrinkles in the bedclothes were the first things that caught her eye. Dick had evidently laid on top of them sometime between Alfred's morning rounds and his patrol on the day that he'd vanished, and the butler hadn't smoothed them back out in the interim. She couldn't blame him for leaving them as they were; this way it was almost as if he'd just gotten up to step into the bathroom or get a drink, and would be back at any moment...

She knew better, but it was a relief to pretend for a second. Her gaze wandered eventually to the nightstand, on which were stacked a few favored books, a picture frame whose contents she couldn't make out, and an orange prescription bottle. The books weren't a surprise – she'd sworn long ago that she would never date a man who didn't like to read, and Dick was no exception to that rule – and neither were the pills, which she knew to be a sleep-aid. The frame drew her, though, and when she reached the side of the bed that was what she picked up first.

"...Oh, Dick," she breathed, biting her lip. She should have known it would be a picture of the pair of them, but it was a shock to see how recent the photo was. Mere weeks earlier he'd appeared in her office bearing an armful of lilies, intent on taking her out anywhere she wanted to eat. After an intimate dinner they'd strolled along a stretch of sidewalk beside the river, talking and letting their stomachs work. She had insisted on propelling herself down the path, and looking back now it struck her just how easily he had fallen in beside her, his pace neither so restrained that she felt she was holding him back nor so fast that she had to work to keep up. The sunset had been beautiful that evening, and when they'd stopped to turn around he'd begged to take a picture with the pastel sky behind them. Seeing the end result of his snapshot now, her throat tightened. _He's not even looking at the camera,_ she sniffled. _He's looking at __me__..._

"I'm an idiot, Dick," she whispered. She'd wasted so much time running away, searching for something that was waiting for her in him all along. There was a very good chance, she mused as she let her fingers skate along the glass, that she was as much in love with him as she could ever be with anyone. They certainly knew each other better than she'd known any of her other suitors, and not just because they shared their night work. There were things she had told him that had never fallen on any other ears, and she trusted wholeheartedly that he would keep her secrets safe. As if that wasn't enough, he adored her so blatantly that even her father, notoriously suspicious as he was of all the men who pursued his daughter, seemed satisfied. What more could any woman possibly ask for?

"Forgive me," she pleaded with the image in her hands. _Don't make me regret my stupidity forever. Come home..._

"Ahem," came from behind her.

"...Hi, Bruce," she greeted without looking around. If there was anyone whom she could be certain was suffering more than she was this morning, it was the man behind her. Setting the frame back in its spot, she wiped her cheeks dry and swung her chair in a half-arc. "I can go if you wanted some time alone in here."

"No," he shook his head. The dark circles and pale skin that had been hidden beneath the cowl earlier stood out now in stark relief. Dressed in somber-colored pajamas and staring needfully around the room, he looked nothing like Batman and everything like a frightened parent. "I _did_ come in to...well, I wanted to talk to you, anyway."

"Okay. About what?" If talking would make him feel better, she'd listen.

The billionaire crossed to the deep armchair in the corner nearest to her and sat down. One of his thumbs stroked the fabric beneath it absentmindedly as he spoke. "...I wanted to tell you that I appreciate the help you've given us these past few days," he began slowly. "Last summer...I didn't realize how hard having us all out during the earthquakes was on Alfred. It's good to know that you're here with him when we're on the streets...looking...and it's good to have your contacts and your knowledge available to us."

"...I want him back too, Bruce," she said, coloring slightly as she cut through his veiled comments. With guilt and regret still pumping through her veins, her next words slipped out before she knew what she was going to say. "I understand if that's hard to believe – I know I haven't always been so, uh, _present_ in the past – but...I'm glad I can do something to help now. I really do care about him. Maybe...maybe more than I'd realized before." She paused, reflecting on the uncharacteristic amount of tears she had shed lately. "Maybe a lot more."

"You make him very happy," a strained murmur told her. "These last few weeks, between you and him being back together and the trip he's been planning with Tim and Damian...I don't think I've seen him so fit to burst before. And that's saying something, because I knew him when he was trying to fit all of his usual joy into a body the third of his current size."

"That must have been a sight," she smiled softly. If they had children, an unbidden voice spoke up in the back of her head, would they look like Dick? Would they wiggle like overeager little puppies when they were excited, wiggle the way she imagined he had done as a boy? Would they bring the same sort of gentle, reminiscent expression to Bruce's face as he was wearing now? _Stop it,_ she warned herself. Her former mentor didn't need to see her cry any more than the others had. Besides, she and Dick were a long way from even considering babies, regardless of whether or not the thought made a pleasant, contented warmth spread through her body.

"It was." He paused, and when he spoke next his voice had hardened. "I need to know more about this Nona woman, Barbara. Not right now – Alfred practically lectured me about getting some rest, and as much as I hate to admit it he's right – but as quickly as possible otherwise. Once I find Dick and get him home, she has to be my next target."

"...Do you think it's possible, then?" she asked. "That she's going to try and take out the Joker?"

"She wouldn't be the first person to make the attempt. Judging from Ivory Jack's comments, though, she might be the first person other than Batman who can give him a run for his money. If she's only been in town a few weeks and has managed to make people of his ilk afraid of her without alerting anyone on our side, then she's pretty remarkable."

"You almost sound like you respect her," she arched an eyebrow.

He peered at her for a moment. "One of the first things I taught you – all of you – was to always respect the people you find yourself facing, Barbara. If you don't respect them you stand a better chance of underestimating them, and underestimation gets people killed. In this instance, I believe that the worst thing we could do would be to underestimate Nona, at least until we know how many of Ivory Jack's rumors are true."

"...You're right. I guess I just find it distasteful to respect the bitch who's partially responsible for handing my boyfriend-" _my __best__friend, _the voice in her head spoke up again, "-to the man who put me in this chair."

"I understand. But it's necessary. Not easy, but...necessary."

A beat passed. "Are you going to Arkham later?" she broached finally.

"Yes. I would have gone earlier, but it was too close to dawn for that kind of an excursion. I don't know what kind of a game the Joker thinks he's playing, kidnapping Nightwing and then keeping silent about his role in it, but I have no option but to go to him directly. Even if we knew where Nona was and how she operates, Jack said she didn't know where Dick was taken. I believe him."

"She might be able to tell you who knows other than the Joker."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But the Joker is a known factor, even if he is acting oddly this time around, whereas I'd be walking into a meeting with Nona completely blind. I can't afford to wait any longer. _Dick_ can't afford for me to wait any longer." His hands clenched down on the arms of his chair. "I can deal with Nona and whatever the Joker's got going on later. My first priority is getting Dick home safe."

"Ditto," she nodded. "...But don't make things worse by getting yourself in trouble in there, okay? I know it's not exactly your first visit, but it's still Arkham. No one knows what all goes on in that place. Not even Batman."

His lips twitched upward at the corners for the briefest of moments. "What about Oracle?"

She gave a ghost of a smile in reply. "Not even her, either. Right now that's both a blessing and a curse."

"Mm. Agreed."

"...Bruce?"

"Hmm?"

"You don't think he's in there, do you? Nightwing, in Arkham?"

"No." He answered quickly, but a visible shiver ran through him despite his negative response. "...No, I don't think that even the Joker could hide him there for this long."

"But you're not sure, are you?" _Not Arkham. Not the Joker's Arkham,_ she gulped. _Anywhere but there._ _Be anywhere but there, sweetheart, please..._

"...It's as you said before," he grimaced. "No one knows what all goes on in there. But I find it hard to buy that Nightwing's presence could be concealed. He has ties to too many inmates, and there are a lot of leaks in that place's walls. We'd have heard something by now, a rumor, a hint...something."

"I hope you're right, Bruce." If some of those familiar inmates _did _know he was there, and were sharing him around...no, she couldn't think like that. Dick would stay positive if he was in her shoes right now, she knew; she just had to do the same thing. Her more pragmatic nature wasn't exactly conducive to that, but she would try, for him.

The veiled terror she found lurking in the billionaire's gaze when their eyes met a second later nearly derailed her nascent efforts before they'd started, though. "...So do I, Barbara," the billionaire whispered. "...So do I."


	10. Chapter 10

Many hours later, Batman jerked the Batmobile around a corner and sped down a straightaway. "Base," he rumbled.

"Here," Barbara answered immediately.

"Where is Robin?"

A muttered curse came through from the other end of the transmission. "I'm right _here_, all right?!" Damian's perturbed voice reported. "Would you quit worrying about me and do your freaking job already?!"

Batman noted the boy's comments, then went on. "And Red Robin?"

"I'm not Robin," Tim piped up in the background of the call. "I wouldn't hide in the trunk or steal the plane if you told me to stay put."

"...The _plane_..." Robin came back in with a groan.

"Don't even think about it, young man!" There was a tone of such dire warning in Alfred's words that Batman himself would have hesitated to disobey had the order been directed at him. "You have thoroughly used up your 'get out of jail free' cards when it comes to running off on dangerous forays while under my supervision. I do not advise that you push your luck on that front tonight."

"Well I wouldn't try it now unless I was an idiot, would I? He just gave the idea away. Thanks for that, by the way."

"I didn't-" Tim objected.

"Shut up, Dra-" Damian cut himself off. "...Just shut up."

No one spoke as the sound of stomping feet faded away. "Are you there yet?" Oracle sighed finally. "I know he's worried, but I might strangle him if he keeps up with the 'eff you all' attitude he's had since you left."

"Mm." He wasn't surprised that his youngest was still in a snit; neither of the boys had been pleased when he'd announced that not only was he going to Arkham alone but that they were restricted to the cave until he returned or called for them. Their frustration was understandable, but he didn't dare bring them with him tonight. He still couldn't believe that Nightwing was a prisoner of the island-bound house of horrors, but he didn't want the others to be present if he was proven wrong. "...Red Robin?"

"Yeah?"

"Stay on alert. If I need you two, I will likely need you fast."

"If we were already in town-"

_"No_." It would be too much temptation for them, he knew, if they were in the city while he was at the asylum. "You'll stay where you are until I direct you otherwise. Understood?"

"I'm not a chi-"

"I know that," he interrupted him. "I know you're not a child." _But you're __my__ child, and I won't risk you or Damian, _he added silently._ Not tonight, and not like this. _"It just has to be this way."

"...Right," came a grudging answer.

He sighed. He'd been counting on his third son to be less fractious on this matter, but he seemed just as upset about it as Damian was. _Damn it, Tim, I know you understand why I'm doing it this way. Help me._ "It won't be long," he said instead. "If he won't talk there's not much I can do about it. Not inside Arkham." Not ever, really, not with the Joker, but barring a full-scale riot he was severely limited in the tactics he could use within the prison's walls.

"Great."

A terse moment of silence passed before Barbara spoke again. "...Anything we can do in the meantime, Batman?"

"No." If only there was, he thought, maybe Tim's voice would stop carrying so much cold resentment. He knew it was a temporary sentiment, but it still hurt. For Damian to sulk when he was told 'no' was expected; for Tim to do the same was almost unheard of. _You've got to come home tonight, Dick. We're losing our minds without you._

"...All right, well...good luck, then."

"Mm. Batman out." Perhaps calling home had been foolish, but he'd wanted to make sure that Robin wasn't trying to sneak off after him. The last thing he needed was for his thirteen-year-old partner to pop up alongside him midway through an interrogation...

A minute later the car rolled onto Gotham's only public beach. Its miserable gray sand sank beneath the tires, but there was no real danger of bogging down. In a minute he'd reached the river, in which only suicides dared to swim. Without a second thought, he drove in.

He couldn't hear the sloshing of the water against the side panels, but he knew when he was sufficiently submerged. Reaching for the touchscreen embedded in the dash, he began to enter commands into the car's central computer. There was a whining _click _as the wheels, already designed to be snugged against the body of the vehicle, pulled up a bit higher and locked into place. Under the hood the power systems could be heard redirecting themselves to spin not the tires but the propeller that had emerged from the rear bumper. The steering underwent a similar alteration, with relays switching soundlessly on and off so that he could control the rudder that had folded out underneath the propeller. The transformation was complete before he'd been pushed more than a few dozen feet downstream by the river's lethal current, and he quickly came about to head against the waves.

The underground dock at Arkham was as boat-free as ever. He'd anticipated as much, since there was no reason for prisoners or supplies to be being transported at night and safety protocols forbade water transportation from being left in the rock-ceilinged cove when active loading or unloading wasn't taking place. He was the only person who ignored that rule, and he had done so often enough that neither of the guards at the water's edge questioned him when he vaulted out of the sunroof and stepped onto the quay.

There was no visitor check-in process for him. A well-meaning matron had tried long ago, but the glare he'd given her for holding him up with pointless paperwork had settled the issue. No one had ever made the attempt again. Now the only obstacle he faced was standing by at each gate while a fumbling watchman unlocked the door for him. The process was barely less annoying than the documents he'd once had foisted on him, but at least the barricades made sense. That being the case, he waited without comment.

Finally he came to a halt in front of a stark square cage, lit by a single fluorescent bulb. There were no windows at this level of the complex, only bars and damp brick that lent a chill to the air. The man inside the cell didn't seem to mind, sleeping as he was in short sleeves and without a blanket. Batman stared at him for a long breath, feeling hatred well in his stomach. _What have you done with my boy, you sick fuck?_ "Joker."

His eyes popped open hopefully, and an instant later a wicked grin spread across his face. "Took you a while," he taunted.

"Where is he?"

"So _rude_," the Joker frowned. "So _abrupt_. I haven't seen you in months, Batsy, and that's how you open our conversation? It's a miracle you have any friends at this rate." He paused. "But I guess you have one less now, don't you?"

Batman bit back an angry snarl, aware that it would only earn him another lecture on manners. "Meaning?" he ground out.

"Meaning poor baby blue bird isn't your friend anymore."

There was no way that Dick had somehow been turned to work for the Joker, he was certain of that much, but his blood turned to ice anyway. "Then whose friend is he?"

"Hmm...probably no one's. Probably not even his own, by now." He shook his head as if he was disappointed. "You've taken an _awfully_ long time, you know. I feel bad for him."

The psychopath sounded more sincere than Batman had ever heard him before. _Oh, god...he's not going to tell me._ The realization hit him suddenly, and his knees nearly went out from under him. _He's not going to tell me where he is. _Nothing about the Joker's actions over the past few days had been normal, and this uncharacteristic sympathy was no exception. But what kind of hellhole, he panicked, could his son have been thrown into to elicit genuine emotion from the _Joker_?

"_Talk to me!"_ The roar came as fingers latched onto his elbow. Looking up, he found that during his brief pause to think the clown had leaped from his bed and raced to reach through the bars. "I'm sick of your silences, Batman! I'm sick of the quiet! I'm sick of hearing myself think! As good of thoughts as they are," he smiled wickedly, seeming to calm, "eventually you want to know what others are thinking. So what are _you_ thinking? Are you thinking about poor baby blue bird? Are you thinking about all the things I might have done to him?"

He didn't answer. Similar episodes of verbal vomit had given him answers in the past, and now that the creep was doing something familiar he didn't want to distract him.

"Well let me tell you, Batsy," the Joker went on, "you can't imagine what he's going through. You have no idea. In fact," his smirk deepened, "_I _have no idea. Not _really, _at least." A beat passed. "Red Hood might know, though. Maybe you should ask _him_, especially if all you're going to do while you're here is stand and stare at me without talking."

_...Jason_? His eyes narrowed behind their lenses. It was a ruse, surely, an attempt to drive a deeper wedge between Red Hood and the rest of the family. Jason had pitched in, had given them Nate Westing, had let Westing _live, _even. He'd had no more of an idea of what had happened to Nightwing than the rest of them had, so how could he know what Dick was going through?

And yet, another part of him spoke up, Jason had beaten the shit out of Westing before bringing them in to talk to him. The fellow had been pliable and clearly terrified, but looking back on things Batman couldn't help but wonder if that was his personality rather than a result of the abuse he'd suffered at Red Hood's hands. What, a nasty thought planted itself in the back of his mind, if Jason hadn't beaten him to get information _out_, but rather to make sure that he kept information _in_? Information, perhaps, that put Hood at the scene of the crime?

It didn't make complete sense either way. All he was left knowing for sure was that he didn't want to believe that Jason would sell his brother out, and to the Joker of all people. That was a quandary that he could tackle later, though, when Dick was safe in his own bed and being hovered over protectively by several people. "...What's happening is inconsequential," he said slowly. "Tell me _where_ it's happening."

"What if the location is inconsequential, too?"

"It isn't." They could only deal with whatever had been done if they could find him, after all.

An appreciative little chortle rang out. "Now you're getting it, Batsy! The location _is_ consequential! In fact," he mused aloud, "the location is _everything_."

Maybe, Batman swallowed, he would get his answer after all. Something seemed to have shifted while they'd been talking, and his adversary was acting more and more like himself with each passing second. Yes, he'd clearly done something awful to Nightwing, but if Bruce could just find him, just hold him and tell him that everything was going to be all right...

His hopes were dashed as fast as they had risen. "But I'm not going to tell you anything else," the Joker deadpanned. "I can't. I wish I could, you know – god, how I'd love to see your face if you were to ever find him! I could die happy once I'd witnessed such pain – but...no. No more." A shriek echoed from a chamber somewhere over their heads, and the clown sighed blissfully. "Even when you go, I'll still have _them _to keep me company. They're paltry things for the most part – nothing compared to you and I, naturally – but…they're better than nothing. You can trust me on that."

He shuffled to the bed without turning away, then laid down and crossed his arms. Studying him, Batman discovered that the other man had developed goosebumps in the course of their discussion despite having looked perfectly comfortable before. "Goodnight, Batsy. I wish you absolutely no luck in finding your broken little blue bird." He paused. "In fact, I hope you never find him at all. It's selfish, I know, but that's what I'm best at, and you've heard the saying; play to your strengths."

The Joker's eyes closed, and Batman knew that they were done. He waited one more moment, then gave in and paced towards the exit. _Call me back,_ he begged. _Give me more. __Give me more, god damn it__!_

But there was no sound from the cell at the end of the line.

The wait to be let out of Arkham door by rusty door was far less intolerable than the wait to be let in had been. He turned the Joker's words over and over again in his head, searching for something, _anything_ that would let him move forward. The only answer he could find was Jason, Jason, Jason, but it just couldn't be. _Anything but that_, he pleaded. _Anyone but one of the boys. Please._

Despite his reluctance, by the time he'd reached the car he'd resigned himself to paying Red Hood a visit. He had no other leads short of continuing to chase the elusive Nona, and his belief that Ivory Jack had been telling the truth about the extent of her knowledge made that look like another dead end. Jason was his last resort. He just hoped that it wouldn't prove to be the road that he should have followed all along...

"Batman!"

He'd been about to step onto the floating roof of the Batmobile, but he swiveled around at the sound of his name. Perhaps the Joker had called him back, his pulse sped up, or someone else had broken, or... "Yes?"

A harried-looking nurse rushed down the stairs towards him. The guards watched, but made no attempt to stop her as she blew by them. "Here," she said, thrusting a thin folder at him. "You are to have this."

There was a trace of an Eastern European accent about her words, and he frowned. "What is it?"

"It is a gift," she answered shortly. "Be grateful." With that she turned away and started back up the stairs.

"A gift from who?" he called after her, now thoroughly confused. Never before had an employee of Arkham run after him to give him something, let alone a gift. _What the hell is going on with this place tonight?!_

She gave a tight smile. "Let us just say that it is from a friend. Relax," she added when he tensed. "There is nothing bad in it. Only good things, for everyone."

And then she was gone. He could have run after her, but something about that last look she'd thrown down at him made him think it wouldn't do any good. He glanced at the guards, who appeared to be just as uncertain as he was, then stared at the folder in his hands. _Not here,_ he decided. There were too many eyes and ears around, and if this was something he could use he didn't want to give his progress away. With that in mind, he stepped into the car, closed the sunroof, and started the engine.

Only when he was back in the river's main channel and could set the autopilot for the ride back to the beach did he reach for his 'gift' again. Flipping open the front cover, he found a sheaf of typed reports bearing the Arkham crest. Opposite them was a handwritten sticky-note. Reading it, his jaw dropped.

'_The enemy of my enemy is my friend.' _

_Use this well, friend._

_ -Nona_

For a moment all he could do was gape at it. When he managed to hitch his face back into place, two words escaped him. "Holy shit…"


	11. Chapter 11

Tim was sitting at a computer terminal beside Barbara and perusing the same useless notes for the hundredth time when a chime sounded. Raising his head to look at the security monitor, he frowned. "...What's he doing back?!"

"I don't know," the woman puzzled. "I thought he was still at Arkham, to be honest. I was starting to get worried."

"Was that the entrance bell?" Alfred asked as he hustled in from the section of the cave devoted to combat training. Damian was close on his heels, his expression a mixture of perplexity and contemplation. Tim knew that the butler had gone into the back some time earlier to speak to him, but he couldn't imagine what sort of conversation could have summoned such a look from the previously angry boy. Noting the teen's mien now, his own confusion deepened.

The mystery of Batman's reappearance was more immediate, though, so he shoved his curiosity into the back of his mind. "Yeah," he answered. "We're not sure what's going on; he never reported in."

"...Odd," Alfred murmured as he took up a position behind Barbara's chair. "Very odd."

No one argued with that assessment as they watched the Batmobile progress through the tunnel. As each of the fifteen coded doors that protected the inner sanctum slid back, the section beyond them turned green. When the next-to-last area changed color, Tim stood up and led the others to meet the man whose call they'd been waiting on for two hours.

The car was still moving when they entered the garage. Before he could take more than a step towards it, the engine died. The driver's side door lifted clear at the same time, letting Batman out. His boots hit the concrete in the same instant that the tires finally stopped rolling, and if he hadn't known better Tim would have thought the vehicle's momentum had been transferred into the man. He certainly sped by them as if it had been. "Hey-!"

"Follow me, all of you."

His tone wasn't one that could be ignored lightly, and none of them wasted any time trying. When they were gathered in front of the computers again Tim noticed the folder that had been carried in. "What's that?" he asked, jerking his chin towards it.

"Answers, I think," Batman replied. One gauntleted hand reached up and stripped off the cowl. "But I'm not sure."

"Hey!" Damian exclaimed. "Why are you taking your gear off? We haven't even been out yet!"

"Damian, hush," Bruce ordered. "You'll understand in a second. Alfred-"

"You could have called in!" the teen barreled on, crossing his arms and glaring. "You've doubled the amount of travel time now! You've wasted an entire hou-!"

His complaint broke off as both Tim and Barbara clapped their hands over his mouth. Tim braced himself, expecting to be bitten in retaliation for the move. Apparently Damian had gotten the message, however, because he settled down and kept his teeth to himself. When it seemed that no more eruptions would be immediately forthcoming, they released him. "...Go on, Bruce," Barbara urged.

"Thank you," the billionaire said, shooting a warning glance at his youngest. As he turned to Alfred again, his brow knit. "Alfred...does the name Hiram Madden mean anything to you? Dr. Hiram Madden?"

"Doctor Hiram Madden..." A moment passed. "...Yes. Yes, it _is_ familiar, but..." The light of recognition dawned on his face, and he met Bruce's gaze. "He was one of your physicians when you were young. A psychologist." He paused. "He was the one who suggested restricted environmental stimulation therapy."

"What's that?" Damian demanded.

"Sensory deprivation," Barbara breathed. "...Alfred, you didn't let him?"

The butler gave her an abashed look. "It was presented to me as an experimental but promising technique, Miss Barbara," he said quietly, "and I must confess that it did seem to render some slight behavioral improvements at the time. I only chose to halt the treatments because of the doctor's unusual...zeal...in administering them."

Tim shook his head, unable to see where the topic was leading. "What does that have to do with Dick?" A psychologist wouldn't kidnap someone just to stick them in a sensory deprivation tank, surely. There was no motive he could think of for such an act, even if the doctor in question had been a bit overzealous thirty-odd years ago.

"I spoke to the Joker," the half-costumed man explained. "He didn't give me much." Tim could tell from the microscopic twitch beneath Bruce's left eye that that wasn't the entire truth, but he didn't interrupt. "I had next to nothing when I left him. Right before I got into the car, though, a nurse came running down after me. She handed me these papers." He tapped the manila folder with one finger. "...They're the Joker's latest medical records."

"Is he dying?" Damian asked, dark joy edging his voice. "Is it something slow and nasty?"

"I have no idea about his physical health. All I know is that he's been seeing Dr. Madden for the last three months, and that the doctor apparently thinks something he's doing is working. The problem is that the details have mostly been blacked out. I don't know if she did it or if the forms were like that in his file, but-"

"Who's 'she'?" Barbara cut him off. "The nurse? I don't have anyone on the nursing staff at Arkham, so unless she's one of your informants…"

"She's not mine, no."

"Then why is she helping us?" Tim mused aloud. An unknown nurse handing off sensitive medical reports to Batman right after an unsuccessful trip to see the Joker...it didn't make sense, and it sure as hell didn't seem to be related to their primary concern at the moment. "If this even _is_ help," he added. "I mean, who is she working for?"

"That much I happen to know." The billionaire opened the folder, peeled a sticky note off of the inside cover, and handed it to him. "Read it."

"'The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Use this well, friend. Nona.'" He started. "_Nona_?!" The note disappeared from his fingers as Barbara gave a yelp and snatched it away. "Ivory Jack's Nona?!"

"That's the only Nona I know of," Bruce shrugged. "If she's working for the Joker like Jack said she was, she might have contacts inside Arkham. And if she's working _against_ him the way Jack said she's rumored to be..."

Two pieces of the puzzle clicked together in Tim's mind. "Then she'd _definitely_ have connections inside Arkham, and she'd have a reason to help you, too," he finished. "'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.' Right?"

"That's how I read it."

"That _bitch_!"

"...Goodness, Miss Barbara," Alfred arched an eyebrow in the shocked moment that followed that . "I understand that these are trying times, but I heard nothing in the letter to arouse such passionate language."

Glancing over, Tim found that the woman's hand was shaking as she gripped the scrawled-upon paper. "She knows, don't you see?" she stressed. "She knows where Dick is. She _knows_, and instead of just _telling_ us she's playing these stupid little mind games, just like the Joker does. A hint here, a scrap of evidence there, and by the time they give you enough to figure it out you're usually too late to do anything!" Her trembling arm shoved the half-crumpled note back towards Bruce. "Take it," she begged. "Take it before I tear it up."

He did as he'd been asked to. "You agree with me, then, that the information I was given was intended to help us find Nightwing?"

"Yes," she nodded vigorously. "That bi-...that woman knows. I don't care what Ivory Jack said otherwise; either she knew before and hid it from him, or she's found out since. But she _knows_."

As much as Tim wanted answers, he couldn't help but be skeptical of the rate at which they were suddenly coming forward. "I still don't see why the file should have anything to do with Dick. Just because Nona was involved in his disappearance and is now passing you the Joker's medical records doesn't mean that the two things are connected. If she's setting herself up against him, she has every reason in the world to want your help, regardless of what's going on with Nightwing." It was strange that one of Bruce's childhood psychologists had been thrown into the mix, he had to admit, but it wasn't weird enough to fall outside of the realm of coincidence. All he was sure of was that there was a major bridge missing along the path that Bruce and Barbara were set on taking, and he didn't want to cross the canyon between the facts with nothing but the frayed rope of supposition under his feet.

"I would normally agree with you," Bruce confessed. "But this is the only potential lead we have, and the way it came about...if it _is_ a coincidence, it's a very unusual one."

There was that little twitch again, the tell that Tim knew meant the billionaire was holding information back. He prepared to say something about it, but Damian jumped in before him. "Why couldn't you tell us all of this over the radio?" the teen scoffed, returning to his earlier pet peeve. "We've wasted an hour that we could have spent going through Gotham looking for this doctor and making him talk!"

"Batman couldn't have safely conferred with me in regards to Dr. Madden over the radio, young sir," Alfred reminded him. "As secure as our lines are, that sort of highly specific history is best discussed in person."

"...Oh," he slumped. "I guess, but...still…"

"Going through Gotham wouldn't have done any good, anyway," Barbara re-entered the conversation. She had pulled a laptop down off of the counter while they'd been debating, and was now staring at it quizzically. "Dr. Hiram Madden's offices are in Bludhaven."

"He's moved, then," Bruce reported, his brow furrowing. "He was based on this side of the river when I saw him."

"Why would they bring in a Bludhaven psychologist to deal with the Joker?" Alfred wondered. "There are plenty of members of that profession in this city who would be interested in having a go at him, surely. Unless…is it possible that he's the only one locally who will perform sensory deprivation? Perhaps they've opted to try the method on the Joker, and no one else was available."

"It's a good thought, but they've used it on him before now. Multiple times. It never worked." Bruce frowned deeply. "What I could read through the redactions suggested that whatever they're trying this time is having an effect. I'm willing to believe it; I've never known the Joker to act the way he has been over the last few days."

"Well, I can tell you that Madden's definitely still into sensory deprivation," Barbara announced. "It's right here on his website. He's run several studies on the effects of REST – that's the clinical acronym for it – on addiction and extreme behavioral issues."

"So let's go question him already!" Damian burst out. "What are we waiting for?!"

"No good," the woman shook her head. "It also says he's on vacation for the next month. But...huh." She looked up. "Bruce, his vacation started the day after Dick vanished."

"…That's strange, but it's hardly a signed confession," Tim remarked, still unconvinced. "I know you're saying this is the only potential lead we have, Bruce, but I just don't see the connection. If Dr. Madden had the Joker to experiment on, and if that experiment was working, then why would he be interested in Nightwing? Dick's perfectly sane, he wouldn't be any…well, any fun."

"I know," the billionaire closed his eyes tightly. "I know, but the only other option is unthinkable…"

Tim exchanged a glance with Damian. "What other option?" they demanded simultaneously.

A half-guilty, half-defensive look came over Bruce's face. His lips parted, but Barbara quickly held up one hand, gesturing for quiet. "Whoa, whoa, wait. I've got something. Madden's website says he works in partnership with a place called Northfield Laboratories. But Northfield Laboratories doesn't have anything to do with psychology. They're a product testing facility. It doesn't add up." A few more clicks sounded, and then her skin suddenly drained of its color. "Oh, god..."

"What is it?"

"I…I think I know what he's been doing to the Joker. If he's been seeing him at Northfield, then this…this makes sense. At least I don't see anything else on their website that makes sense, especially if regular REST didn't work before…"

"_What is it_?"

"It's just…Northfield has an anechoic chamber. A quiet room. The...the quietest in the world, in fact. It's rated at -8 decibels. If Madden's locking the Joker up in that place, it wouldn't be sensory deprivation; it would be torture."

Now Bruce paled. "'I'm sick of the quiet,'" he recited. "'I'm sick of hearing myself think.' The Joker said that earlier. I thought he was referring to being in solitary, but this makes more sense. Plus, he knew something was going on with Nightwing, knew he was missing, before I'd said three words. He said he felt bad for what was happening with him. And he said..." He swallowed audibly. "He said that the location was everything."

"There are only two of these ultra-quiet rooms in the entire country," Barbara whispered. "Bruce...it's been almost four days. The longest anyone's managed to stay in a chamber like this one was forty-five minutes_, _and they came out shaking." Her eyes filled with tears, but they didn't fall. "...Four _days_..."

Tim had to look away from her as he worked to put everything in order in his head. "Let me get this straight," he said slowly. "You two are saying that the Joker has been being treated by one of your," he gestured at Bruce, "childhood psychologists. The guy had a sensory deprivation fetish back then, and has expanded it since by gaining access to an anechoic chamber and sticking the Joker inside. It seems to be having an effect on him, but..." This was where he kept losing the trail every time he went over what had been said in the last twenty minutes. "But _what_? He's stopped treating the Joker in order to spend his vacation watching a kidnapped-but-perfectly-sane vigilante sit in a quiet room for hours on end? I don't see the connection."

"That _is_ a lot of guesswork," Damian remarked. "Don't get me wrong, I want to do something to find Grayson, but Drake just pointed out a pretty big gap in your reasoning."

"My reasoning is based on the Joker's interrogation and on this file," Bruce fired back. "Any other questions?"

"Yeah. Question one," the teen ticked off a finger, "we trust the Joker now? Question two," another digit went up, "all we got out of that file – which was given to you by someone you don't know and who may or may not be friendly – was a name that you were already predisposed to hate. Why should we give it any special weight? Question three, why should this Madden guy sit around and watch Nightwing…what, go crazy? Why would he do that? Why Nightwing? What's the _point?!_"

"It could be an old Bludhaven connection that we don't know about," Barbara suggested. "Or it could go back to the Joker in the end. The point is-"

"The point is that we have _no other leads_!" the billionaire practically shouted. "What else do you want me to do, Damian? Go back to square one and leave this," he waved the file in the air, "unexplored? We have no other trails to follow!"

"_You_ said there was another possibility!" Damian spat. "Why don't we at least dissect _both_ potential paths before we go off and infiltrate a random product testing facility in Bludhaven?"

"It's Jason, isn't it?" The words fell out of Tim's mouth before he'd finished thinking them. "...Jason is the 'other option'. That's why you don't want to talk about it; you don't want him to be guilty. You're trying to protect him."

A beat passed. "...Master Wayne?" Alfred asked gently.

Bruce flushed apoplectically. "Red Hood had _nothing_ to do with Dick's disappearance," he growled. "You two have been determined to pin this on him since the beginning. While I understand your initial suspicions, all of the evidence we have is pointing in another direction. So _drop it_."

"Sure," Tim nodded. "All of the evidence except that it happened in his territory, that he found –and pre-interrogated – the witness who put us on this path to begin with, and that the Joker dropped his name." In retrospect his own argument was as held together by supposition as Bruce's was, but at least he wasn't trying to tie everything to a seemingly motive-free psychologist in another city. While it was somewhat hard to buy that Jason would do anything to help his own killer, it was entirely believable that he'd both know how to and want to hurt Bruce in the worst way possible.

"If you're going to trust everything else the Joker said tonight, you have to trust that, too," Damian pitched in.

"No, I don't, because it's the Joker," Bruce retorted. "Besides, he didn't say Jason had anything to do with it; all he said was…was that he might know what Dick's going through."

Tim felt his stomach lurch at that new information. There was only one experience he could think of that Jason was better equipped than any of them to commiserate with, and that was death. _He's __not__ dead,_ he tried to rally himself. _He's not, he's not, he's __not__..._ The Joker had just been talking out of his ass the way he did half the time regardless of the topic at hand. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. Wouldn't they know? Wouldn't one of them, at least, have felt something? He didn't put any real stock in such supernatural things, but right now he was grasping at any and every straw he could reach. _He's not dead. He's not. _"...Make me a deal, Bruce," he ventured shakily.

"What is it?"

"If we're going to take everything the Joker told you tonight as truth, then based on what you just said my hypothesis is almost as full of holes as yours. If we stop arguing and just go to this place, this lab…if we go and he's not there, if _nothing's_ there...then we go to Jason."

"Fine."

"I'm not done," he said fiercely, his ire rising. Barbara was right; it had been four days. Even if they were all completely off track about where Nightwing had been taken, time was running out. He couldn't maintain his façade any longer under the pressure of that knowledge, and the impatience and fear that had been building in him for the last ninety-six hours broke through. "If he's not there, then we go to Jason and we get our goddamn answers by any means necessary. I am _sick_ of this game," he choked. "I am _sick_ of you defending him – don't argue, we all know that's why you didn't want to explain the 'other option' before – and I am doubly sick of not knowing what's happened to my brother. I'm _done_. When we go out tonight," he swore, "I'm not coming home until I can bring him with me."

Bruce looked about ready to cry, and for an instant Tim regretted the force of his outburst. It had worked, though, he realized as both of Bruce's hands landed on his shoulders and squeezed, and that made it worth it. "...Fine," the billionaire agreed. "Fine. We check the lab, then...if nothing's there...we go to Jason. But if _that_ doesn't give us anything either, promise me you'll still come home. Even if tonight yields nothing, we'll get much further together than if we all go off on our own. All right?"

His outburst had hurt the man staring into his eyes, he knew, and saying no would only deepen the wound he'd caused. Besides, Bruce had a point; the familial team _was_ more likely to make headway than a lone searcher. He couldn't keep an eye on Damian from a distance anyway, and while he wouldn't have cared about that a year ago it was a major concern now. Dick would want him to make sure the kid was okay, and Tim was a little worried about the teen for his own reasons. _He cried the other night,_ he reminded himself. _He cried in front of me. _How could he leave him behind after something like that? "All right," he gave in, his rage receding. "I'll still come home. But if we come home with nothing," he tacked on, "we'll need to reconsider informing the League."

"Deal. I won't have a choice by tomorrow night, in any case," the billionaire said grimly as he released him. "He's scheduled to be on watch then. But we'll worry about that and...other things…later. In the meantime," he directed, his voice dropping as he pulled his cowl back on, "let's get to Bludhaven. We have a lot of work to get done before dawn."

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Stay tuned to see if Bruce and Barbara are on the right path or if their desperation has led them into another dead end. Those of you who have been clamoring for another chapter from Dick's POV will be pleased with the next part (and no, it's not complete yet so I can't post it early). Jason will be back soon, as well. As always, thanks so much for reading and reviewing! <strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: I intended to post this chapter and next as one when I was writing it, but upon review I feel like they work better if they are distinct. Either way, there is catharsis and DaddyBats at the end. Happy reading!**

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><p>It might have been weeks since he'd heard a sound that wasn't tied to his own biology. Months, perhaps; years, even. Decades? No...he didn't feel <em>that<em> much older. He didn't feel anything, really, didn't feel anything but pain and fear and madness and, beneath it all, a pervasive sense of loss, like something he needed in order to live had sprouted wings and fled to a height that he could not reach. It hung above his head, taunting him, daring him to come close enough to take it back for his own.

Icarus...he knew now how he'd felt, flying higher and higher into the sky on the wings his father had built for him. He should have been more careful, should have measured his surroundings, shouldn't have gotten carried away by the joy of doing things that no one else could do. He'd grown too confident, risen too far; he'd had everything, everything for a single moment before he plunged down, down into the inky, tepid, silent sea where he drowned, alone and afraid.

The sea ebbed and flowed, ebbed and flowed, faster now, faster, louder, like a tempest raging in his ears. The ocean spray blew in his face despite the strange lack of wind, and salty water pricked his eyes. His tongue sneaked out to taste one of the drops, then pulled back. He wasn't thirsty. Why would he be? The white coats, those cruel bastard gods who ruled the world, took care of that for him.

He lashed out reflexively, trying to get away from them even though they were not there just then. He'd learned after the second or third or eightieth time that he could evade them for a while if he stuck to the dark corners of the room, and he moved into one now with all of the sneakiness he could muster. The game of hide and seek never lasted forever – at least he didn't _think_ it did – but he always went as long as he could. Every time they came he felt himself die a little more, but he could not stop it. He ran, he climbed, he slipped away from their clawing hands and wretched instruments, loathing them, reviling them, wishing he could fight back.

They always entered in the same way, through the blazing rectangle that opened without warning on the edge of the world. It burned his eyes even when he closed them tight and turned his head away, and he cried out without fail. In their hands they carried more of the white-hot torture they'd emerged from – he didn't know how they could stand to touch it, but maybe that was why they were gods and he was just their plaything – which they always, _always_ directed at him. Dodging and scampering worked somewhat, he'd found, but eventually one would catch him full in the face with their magical beam. Then the air would tear up through his aching throat again and again, and he would collapse with his palms pressed hard against the balls of agony seated in his skull.

He was getting better, though, he smirked to himself. Last time he'd made it halfway up a wall before they'd realized he was no longer skulking about at their level. He had paid the price, falling many feet when their bright swords struck him simultaneously, but that was alright. Next time, he swore as he cradled the wrist he'd landed badly on, he would get to the top. Next time they wouldn't dare to force him down with pain. Next time, regardless of whether they gave up and let him be or caused him to plummet to an even more final darkness than the one that pressed in now, he would win the game.

Winning was essential, because the hellish fires that they stoked behind his eyes on every visit were only the beginning. They approached once they had him writhing on the floor, approached and pinned him securely in place. It was only then, when hands pressed down on his elbows and knees, that he could summon the strength to stare into the torches they'd brought with them in order to see what he was fighting against. The demons whose job it was to restrain him were hideous things, nightmare fuel condensed from a thousand years of inherited horror stories. Their faces contorted and dripped with foul sweat as they rode his desperate bucking and yawing, and the sight of them invariably drew fresh attempts at screams from his lungs.

Screaming only made things worse, though, because then the gods themselves swooped in. All white save for where their dark, narrowed eyes peeked out above their strangely flat faces, they were far worse than the brute devils holding him in place. He didn't know what they poured down his throat when he opened his mouth to wail his protests at them, but he hated it. Flavorless and cool, it tried to choke him every time he slammed his lips shut against its flow. Rubbery fingers would pry them wide again, and he would swallow, swallow, not because he wanted to but because his body demanded it. His muscles always went lax as the last drop slid down into his gullet, but he refused to let his mind do the same. It was all a trick, he reminded himself silently, a ruse to get him to cooperate so that they could use their tools on him.

If they spoke to each other as they worked, poking and prodding at the few areas of his body they had managed to access, he couldn't hear them. All that reached his ears was the frantic flailing of his own heart as it threw itself against his ribs. There would eventually be a prick along his forearm, and something would slide out of him in response. They were draining him, it seemed, of the very energy that let the terrified little bird in his chest try to flee. It disgusted him that the fragile creature responded each time, calming as the gods pulled back and the demons let up on his limbs. He wanted it to rage on, to beat itself against its cage until it fell back in a bloody pulp and shuddered to an irreversible stop. He wanted it to die, to die and take him with it, to take him away from this place forever.

If he could do that, he schemed – if he could die, and thus deny the white monsters their meal of blood – would they die, too?

As if they'd heard him thinking, their portal opened. He shot to his feet with a soundless snarl and backed into the corner. Last time he had groped his way upward on a flat section of the wall, but ascending at the intersection would, he felt, let him go faster. He had to go fast, had to get high; the further up he was when they found him with their beams of pain, the greater his chance of winning the game. _Win,_ he whispered to himself as a single black silhouette appeared in the doorway. _I have to win this time. I won't feed you any more, you bastards..._

The world suddenly exploded. A horrid sun that he hadn't known existed illuminated everything from above, leaving no place for him to hide as a million spikes drove into his brain. He didn't cry out, although he wanted to shriek until his teeth shattered, nor did he cover his blistering eyes with his hands. He could do nothing, because the gods had unleashed their ultimate weapon and used it to take control of him. Convulsing under the blank pain, he crumpled. _Make it stop! __Make it stop__! I give up! You win, you win, just make it __stop__! _

Darkness fell again, but the renegade charges sparking through his nerves remained. He gaped helplessly as the shape standing in the single square of brightness that remained – oh, what a fool he'd been, thinking that what had come through that door before was torture! – moved forward. _Make it stop,_ he begged as he flinched and jerked in the aftermath of the attack. The shadow-clad figure that could be no other than his executioner halted beside him, then knelt down. A hand touched his face, and he waited for it to close his eyelids forever. _Just make it stop...please, just make it stop..._

The world faded, and he smiled as he prayed for death.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: I ended up splitting this chapter in two and posting both parts today, so make sure that you read chapter 12 before you jump into this one.**

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><p>Batman had known they were on the right track as soon as he'd seen the cars in the parking lot outside. There was absolutely no reason for product testing to be going on at one o'clock in the morning, he'd thought bitterly as they slid down from the plane. <em>Run away, Madden, <em>he threatened silently._Run far, far away from me. Go now; I cannot guarantee your safety._

"Basement," he'd directed the others once they'd landed beside him. It was all beginning to make sense now, the lack of radio communication, the failure of the tracking beacons to show up, their inability to find clues on the other side of the river. His certainty swelled with each step he took; Dick had been trapped underground this whole time, locked up not in Gotham's sewers or subways but in an ultra-insulated cellar on the north end of Bludhaven, far from where anyone would go looking for him. _I'm here, Dicky. I'm here. Just hold on._

They reached a door labeled Basement One, but the stairs kept going down. Basement Two passed, and still they were led on. Only at the third level did the risers stop, and there he breathed a sigh of relief. This would be where it was, below the noisy tubes and tunnels that kept the city above functioning smoothly. Grimacing, he passed into the hallway.

It was quiet save the faint buzz of the fluorescent fixtures overhead. Half of them were turned off, leaving the passageway just dim enough for them to sneak through it without fear of being seen by someone in a side room. Their destination was clearly marked by the light spilling out underneath a shut door at the end of the corridor. There were no guards outside – _you're a fool, Madden, you must have known I'd come looking eventually – _and the boys took up positions on either side of the portal without being directed. Laughing voices swelled on the other side of the barricade as he gripped the knob. How dare they, he fumed, his free hand tightening into a fist. How dare they laugh while they held his son prisoner.

The unlocked handle turned easily, and in a moment there was no more laughter.

"Tie them up," he directed Robin when all six had been neutralized. "Leave _that_ one," his finger jabbed at a white-coated man cowering in the corner, "awake, but make sure the others are unconscious."

"Right," the teen agreed, smirking as he delivered another blow to the technician he'd already knocked out.

"Batman," Red Robin summoned him. "...Look."

He turned to see a specialized pair of elbow-length gloves lying on a counter. An unmistakable blue line curved around each piece, and a brownish stain on one told him that blood had been spilled. His eyes widened. _Dick..._

The conscious lab worker immediately found himself dangling from the wall. "Why did you remove his gloves?" Batman snarled, mere inches from the fellow's terrified face. _What else did you remove?_ sat unspoken at the back of his mind. If Nightwing's identity had been compromised, they were all in danger. He needed to know _now_. "Answer me!"

"W-we needed to be able to draw b-b-blood. Doc-doctor Madden wanted to know l-levels every six hours..."

"Levels?" he repeated.

"Uh...uh-huh. Cell counts, stress hormones...even insulin. He wanted everything to...to be kept t-track of. He said it...it was important."

"Where is he?"

"He left. He went home. I swear, he's not here, honest to God, he's the one you want, not us, please!"

It took Batman a second to realize that the technician thought he'd been asking about Hiram Madden. A frustrated growl escaped him. "Not Madden! _Nightwing_!"

"Aaaah," the man cried out in fear, trying to recoil. "Through...he's through there," he moaned, jerking his head towards the far wall. "There's a password...I could enter it for you. I know it. I'll help."

"I think you've helped enough already," he sneered, and dropped him. "Robin!"

"Got it," the youth said, shoving past him and flipping over their now-crying informant. "Shut up, you idiot," he barked scornfully as he dug his knee into the man's back. "As much as I'd like to see you dead, _we_ won't be the ones who kill you. So stop blubbering like a fricking baby, would you?"

"I'm s-s-_sorry_..."

"_Shut up!_"

Batman turned his back on them and drew up to where Red Robin was studying a control panel. "Well?"

"It's all computerized. Lights, doors, temperature, cameras, all of it."

"Can you get the door open?"

"Halfway there," Tim said, tapping a small box on the desk. It was his own invention, an auto-decrypter that was small enough to be carried in his belt and powerful enough to crack even the most complex codes in record time. Bruce had been immensely proud of his third son's work when he'd first seen the thing in action, and that emotion swelled in him again now.

"Good." _Almost there, kiddo. Just stay calm. _"...You mentioned cameras?"

"Yeah, but they're off right now and it's a different code set to turn them on. Do you want me to divert from the door?"

"No." Being able to see Dick before he could reach him would only frustrate him further. "Just get me in there."

"Got it."

Robin joined them a moment later. "What's taking so long?" he demanded.

"I'm working on it," Red Robin told him. "It'll go faster once it gets the first one. There are usually patterns inside any one system, you know?" He paused. "Um...Batman?" he asked slowly, pitching his voice low so that the technician couldn't hear.

"Mm?"

"I know this isn't really the time, but...you were right. I still don't know if I'm convinced that Hood didn't have something to do with it-"

"_I'm_ not convinced," Damian interjected.

"-But however that turns out...you were right. I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

"...Had our positions been reversed, I wouldn't have believed me, either," Batman admitted without tearing his eyes from the progress on the computer screen. "You were skeptical of a circumstantial theory, and that's nothing to be ashamed of. On the contrary, it's what you were trained to do. Don't apologize for that. However," he went on, "you need to realize that Red Hood is innocent in all of this."

"I know _you_ believe that," Tim grimaced. "Until something happens to exonerate him, though, he's still a suspect in my mind."

He sighed. "I know. I expected as much, and I understand why. But you're wrong."

"...I hope you're right, because I don't want to think about how Nightwing will feel if you're not."

"Red Hood doesn't want to go there," Robin hissed. "There won't be anything left of him to be resurrected this time around if he does. If he did. Whatever. You get my point."

"Watch your mouth," Batman rumbled. As much as he appreciated Damian's desire to defend Dick, he refused to allow that urge to protect to extend to threats on Jason's life. "You'll kill no one, including Red Hood."

The teen's mouth opened, no doubt to launch a retort, but before he could speak the monitor changed. "We're in," Tim announced, rising.

"Stay here," Batman ordered immediately.

"_What_?!" dual protests rang out.

"Stay here. Robin, you need to watch the technicians and guard the hall. Red Robin, stick to the computer; I may need something changed once I'm inside. _Do not_ follow me unless I explicitly tell you to do. Do you understand?"

"This is bullshit," Tim said flatly.

"Yeah, it is," Damian agreed. "Total bullshit."

"...Just do it," he ordered, then swung away and strode to the door. _I don't know what I'm going to find when I go through here, _he gulped. _If it's bad – if __he's__bad – then I don't want you two to see it._ More importantly, he knew his eldest son; if he'd truly been locked in a torture chamber for four days straight with no reprieve, there was a good chance that Bruce was the only person who would be able to approach him safely. _I'm coming, Dicky,_ he thought as he turned the handle. _Just one more second..._

A blank antechamber greeted him. The lights were only half-on, just as they had been in the hall, and he frowned. Wouldn't they want _more_ light in here, he wondered, if only so that they could better avoid a sneak attack when they opened the next portal? Shaking his head free of that pointless thought, he flipped the manual lock on the slab that had closed behind him. Satisfied that he would have some warning if the other two tried to follow him, he moved forward.

He feared that the second door might have a different unlocking code than the first, but its lever turned easily beneath his hand. Throwing it open, his confusion deepened. _Darkness? Odd..._ Maybe they had Dick on a sleep schedule, he reasoned; it was the middle of the night, after all. "Turn on the lights," he radioed. There was no answer, and he couldn't help but be impressed. Tim was less than twenty feet away, but the walls between them were built in such a way as to block his transmission. Noting what looked like an intercom to the right, he flipped it on. "Turn on the lights," he repeated.

"Roger. One second."

Several ticked by. Suddenly the overheads flickered to life, revealing the massive space ahead of him. It smarted his eyes, but he peered through the discomfort, searching. _There_! he cheered as he spotted his quarry standing in one corner. He was alive and awake and aware and...and falling, falling now to the unforgiving chicken wire floor, falling and flailing as if he was in unimaginable pain. _Baby, no,_ he begged, reaching out for him despite the distance between them. _What...no...what's going on?_

And then it struck him; the lights hadn't been off for the night, they'd been off for four days. Left in total silence and complete darkness for that long, how would a person's mind react if they were suddenly bombarded by brightness? Wouldn't they be shocked? Startled and scared beyond comprehension, mightn't they, he gasped, be thrown straight into a seizure? "Off!" he shouted at the intercom. "Turn them off, now, _now!_"

"Okay, okay, jesus, what's going on in there?!" There was a thump on the far side of the exterior door. "...Batman, what's happening? What's wrong?!"

"Make him open this!" Damian's voice came through that speaker as if he was speaking from a distance. A fist pounded on the metal. "Let me in!"

"Aaaah...I can't, it's a manual lock! Use your picks!"

"_Turn them off and stay out there_!" He wasn't sure if they heard the last part, and he didn't really expect them to obey even if they had, but at least the lights went out. His cheeks grew wet as he pelted through the blackness towards the corner where he'd seen his sweet boy, his first and greatest salvation, collapse. All but kneeling on top of him in his haste, his fingers groped out. "Nightwing," he moaned, but the name merely echoed in his head. "Nightwing," he tried again, with the same result. A shiver ran through him. _My god, this is creepy,_ he panted. _Four days like this...four days...my poor baby..._

The tremors that shook the body beneath his hands gradually faded. Leaning in close when they seemed to be finished, he felt his way along his son's throat. The pulse he found was panic-stricken and galloping, but as he waited it began to slow. As soon as he deemed it safe, he pulled him up and into his arms. His lips brushed against an ear as he attempted to make himself heard once more. "It's okay now, chum," he whispered, sniffling as he rocked him. "Just stay with me...just hold on...we'll get you home, get you safe...you'll be all right...it's over...we'll get you home and in bed, and you'll be okay..." _You'll be okay,_ he promised desperately. _You'll be okay. Hiram Madden won't be, not when I'm through with him, but you...you'll be okay._

_You have to be okay, Dick. You __have __to be okay..._

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><p><strong>Author's Note: As a housekeeping note, I've found since switching to the every-other-day posting schedule that the weeks when I post Monday, Wednesday, and Friday are extremely difficult due to my work schedule and other projects that I have going on. As such, I'm going to be posting Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays from here on out. I will occasionally post a short piece outside of the main story on an 'off' day. Also, when we get to December I plan to go back to one-a-day posts for round two of my Christmas-themed shorts ala last years 'A Counting of Days.' Happy reading!<strong>


	14. Chapter 14

Damian's frustration grew as he slipped his picks past pin after pin only to find another one waiting. _How deep is this tumbler?!_ he wanted to scream. Grayson was just beyond, so close and yet so far. He shivered as he recalled the tone in his father's order to shut off the lights. The pain and fear in those few words had caused him to throw himself futilely against this stubborn portal and pound his fists against it. He just wanted inside; if he could get inside, maybe he could help...

"What's taking so long?!" Red Robin asked from his seat at the computers.

"I'm going as fast as I can!" he snapped back. "This is a complicated lock!"

"I meant – oh, screw it." Robin watched in his peripherals as Tim stood up and moved past him. "Is there a key for that door?" he heard him demand of their still-conscious hostage.

"Probably? I don't know. I don't actually work here."

He nearly dropped his picks. "_What?!_"

"What do you mean you don't work here?!" A _thump_ suggested that the man had been pushed back against the wall none too gently. "You said you were taking blood, running tests!"

"Well yeah, but we were brought in special for that! I mean...I'm a medical technician. I just answered an online ad that Dr. Madden posted, that's all. None...none of us know why he puts people in the crazy room, and the only guy who actually works here, like for Northfield, is...well…over there on the floor."

"'People'?" Tim repeated. "Who else has he put in there?"

"J-just the Joker, at least that I'm aware of. But...we had to do the same blood tests and stuff on him. I almost quit when I found out _he_ was the patient, but..."

"But _what_?"

"The money's really, really good," the technician said, a shrug evident in his voice. "I mean, medical techs don't make bad money to start with, but Dr. Madden's paying me almost double the normal salary. That...that made dealing with the Joker's blood worth it, you know?"

_Click_. "Got it!" Robin called over his shoulder as he retracted the bolt. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah-"

"Whoa!" Damian leaped back as the door opened of its own accord and Batman strode through it with a black-shrouded body cradled in his arms. _...Why is his face covered?_ he panicked, his limbs suddenly feeling as if they'd been filled with lead. _What did they do to you, Grayson?_

"Let's go," Batman ordered before his train of thought could continue. "We're done here. Leave _him,_" he jerked his chin towards the man Red Robin had been talking to, "awake."

"...Wait, really?" Tim frowned.

"Yes. Leave him awake, and turn off the lights on your way out."

"Hey!" the technician protested. "Why-"

Batman froze and turned an imperious glare on him. "Be grateful that I'm leaving you in the dark out here," he growled. "Continue complaining and I'll have them lock you in the room instead. My guess is that you'll be in there for hours before anyone comes along to let you out." He paused. "...Is that what you want?"

"N-no..."

"Then shut up and be grateful that I'm not a cruel man." With that, he exited.

Damian yanked his picks from where they still bristled out of the lock and scurried after him. Tim stuck close to his heels as he bolted into the hallway, stopping only long enough to sweep a hand down over the light switches and shut the door. "Did you lock it?" the teen tossed back over his shoulder.

"Absolutely. Fuck that guy, he can sweat an extra two minutes while they get a key. Batman-"

"He's alive," came the answer to their unasked question. "He's just extremely light sensitive, so I covered his face. I didn't want to take any chances after...well. I'll explain in the plane."

"Light sensitive?" Glancing over, he saw Tim frown. "Wait...you don't think they had the lights off in there _the whole time, _do you?"

"...That's exactly what I think they did," Batman breathed, pulling the bundle in his arms reflexively closer.

Four days, Damian mused in horror, with neither light nor sound. Four whole days...

Nothing else was said as they ascended back through the building and stepped out onto the roof. The faint breeze that always blew on this side of the river had picked up precipitously, and whistled now and again as it passed between nearby buildings. Taking off would be more difficult than normal in such conditions, he knew, but they didn't dare wait for the car to make the trek from the cave. They wouldn't make it home for hours at that rate, and he didn't want Grayson to have to go that long before he could be put safely to bed in his not-too-dark and not-too-quiet room.

That being the case, he didn't complain when he was told to stay in the medical bay with his insensate brother. Once the other two had left to go up front – Tim hadn't looked happy about leaving Dick's side, but he had far more flight experience than Damian did and the weather was getting bad enough to require hands on both the pilot's and the co-pilot's yokes – he approached the bed. Batman had uncovered the face of the unresponsive figure he'd carried up from the basement, and had draped a blanket over him as well, but he was entirely too still. For all that Damian trusted his father's word, he wanted verification of life for himself.

"Nightwing?" he ventured. Nothing happened. "Grayson?" Not so much as a twitch. "...Dick?" _Wake up. Please wake up. I just want to know that you're not insane, or dead, or...or something... _He shuffled his feet unhappily. _Show me you're still __you__,_ he pleaded. _I need __you__. Don't wake up as someone else, okay?_

There was a lurch as the plane lifted off of the building and was immediately hit by the wind. Catching himself before he could fall, Damian grabbed hold of Dick with one hand and held onto the table with the other. The shuddering turbulence continued as they struggled to climb to flight altitude. Between that and the relative darkness of the room – one light had been turned on, but it was in the corner and served only to cast everything in shadows – it took him several seconds to realize that the abused man had awakened and was gripping his wrist tightly. "Nightwing," he began, a relieved smile crawling across his mouth. "It's okay. You're in the plane, we're just taking off and it's win-"

His assurances were cut off by the collision of a fist with his nose. Seeing stars, he stumbled backwards and fell onto the bench bolted down along one wall. _It was an accident, _he told himself as he fingered his bloodied and swelling nose. It had just been the way everything was bouncing around, surely. Dick had probably been reaching out to ruffle his hair or do something equally sappy and cutesy, and his hand had gotten thrown. That was all it was. His beloved big brother would never purposefully hit him, not like that...

Looking up from his shock, he started. "Nightwing, sit down!" he barked. "You're going to get hurt!" He watched helplessly as he backed into the corner opposite the lit lamp and stood there with his lips pulled back from his teeth. Ungloved hands rose to cover his ears, and in the faint glow Damian could see the damage that had been done to the uncovered areas of his arms. "Jesus, Dick," he murmured. He had expected to see bruises and needle marks based on what the medical technician had said about drawing blood every six hours; the dozens of angry red scratches whose origins he could only make a stomach-curdling guess at, however, were a surprise. "...What did you do to yourself?"

The only answer he got was a hoarse, pathetic moan as Dick sank down to the floor and buried his face against his knees. Damian wasn't sure how to feel about this new development. On the one hand, he was a hell of a lot safer down low and tucked into the corner, at least so long as the plane continued to buck and yaw in the wind. On the other, he was clearly in pain, and that was unacceptable. _I'm going to have to get up,_ he grimaced. _I can't let him sit over there like that by himself. _He'd been by himself for four terrible days, after all, and wasn't that long enough to suffer?

"Okay," he said as he shambled and staggered closer. "I know it's loud. It's just the plane. It's a good noise, it's taking us home. And we have to have a _little_ light, even though you're sensitive to it. We'd be blind otherwise. So just..." He fell to his knees a few feet short of his goal as the aircraft gave a truly terrific leap. "...Just calm down, all right?"

"No more."

His eyes narrowed behind his mask. The two garbled but intelligible words he'd just heard hadn't come out in a whine, but in a snarl. "...Grayson?" he ventured cautiously. "It's me. Calm down. It's over."

"No. More. No more. _No more_!"

The harsh, rasping nature of that simple mantra made something pinch in his chest. _How long did you scream in that room_? he wondered with a gulp. _How many times did you call out for us, only for no one to show up_? Stretching out a hand, he squeezed the closer knee. "Nightwing-"

His Robin training was the only reason he jerked away in time to keep Dick's boot from burying itself in his stomach. It glanced off of his side instead, the sole scraping his skin without causing any real damage. The irony of using his instruction in avoidance of close-range blows to deflect a kick aimed by the very person who had been his teacher wasn't lost on him, but he couldn't manage a smirk. It hurt too much. "Dick," he gasped once he'd scrambled out of the way. "Stop..."

An apology, a huge hug, whispered assurances; those were the gestures that he expected his brother to respond to his childish plea for normalcy with. Instead the man just buried his face back against his bent legs, keeping his scratch-scarred forearms pressed over his ears. "No moooore..."

Damian wasn't sure how long he stayed crouched in that spot and stared at Dick with tears and blood mingling on his face. _Who are you?_ _I want my brother back. Tell me how to get you back, damn it!_ _This isn't __you__!_

"Robin!"

He turned to find Tim rushing into the room. "Get Batman," he choked out.

"What..." Red Robin stared back and forth between him and Nightwing. "...Was the turbulence that bad back here? You're bleeding."

"I...yeah." He couldn't say it, couldn't make his lips form the words. 'Dick hit me'… It was impossible. It would be a lie. Dick would never hit him, never. "It got pretty rough for a while."

"Did he fall off the bed, or-"

"Don't touch him!" he warned as Tim reached out towards the cowering figure. "...He's really sensitive right now. To...to everything. Noise, light...touch...just...everything."

"Wait a minute...did he _hit_-"

"What's going on in here?" Batman demanded from the doorway.

Damian held Red Robin's gaze for a second, then sniffled painfully and averted his face. "...The shaking was worse back here than we thought," he heard the older male respond finally, "and it looks like the engine noise isn't helping our cause any."

"That's not a surprise. At least he's awake now. After what happened before, I thought...mm. Well." Tight-mouthed, Batman moved forward. "We're leveled out. We should be home in fifteen, twenty minutes. Let's get him back into bed until then." As he drew even with Damian, he paused. "...What happened to your face?"

The heinous truth still wouldn't form on his tongue. "...Bad turbulence," he mumbled, swiping at the trails spilling down from his nostrils. A tissue appeared out of nowhere, and he took it from Red Robin's fingers without looking at him. "That's...that's all. You need to take care of his arms," he changed the subject by pointing at Nightwing. "It...it looks like he was scratching himself. Some of them are deep, I think."

A beat passed. "...Right," Batman said. "Both of you move to the other side of the room and stay there unless I tell you otherwise. We don't want him to feel crowded."

Neither of them argued. When they were flanking the single spot of light in the room, Robin felt a nudge. "What?" he half-hiccuped, still trying to wrangle his tears.

Tim's hand hovered a half an inch above his shoulder, as if it wanted to fall comfortingly but wasn't sure that it would be safe. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

"I'm..." _He hit me,_ he wanted to sob. _Why did he do that? That's not him. Bring him back. Make him come back!_ But Tim had no more control over that than he did. Besides, he still refused to introduce his traitorous accusation of violence to the open air. "I'm okay," he waved away instead. "You should be worried about _him_, not me."

"Believe it or not, Robin, I've been both tonight."

He closed his eyes. "Just shut up for a minute, okay, Drake?" he whispered as an odd mixture of gratitude and annoyance sank through his midsection.

"...Okay."

Well aware that his request might have been taken the wrong way and not wanting to alienate the only brother he seemed to have left at the moment, he tried to backpedal. "I didn't mean-"

"I know. It's okay."

"...Oh. Um...good."

"_Stand down_!"

Both of their heads whipped around at Batman's low cry. Nightwing stood on his feet, his entire body rigid. His hands, stained in all but a few small areas with his own blood, had curled into fists. They were still pressed against his ears, but his posture left no doubt that he would strike out if given an excuse. For a moment they all stayed frozen in their tableau. Then, without warning, Dick bolted for the open door.

"Get him!" Tim exclaimed, and made to give chase.

"Stay back!" Batman counter-ordered, vaulting a bed. Another bounding leap gave him just enough reach to snag his son's elbow and haul him back into the room. "Calm down," he directed as he pulled him close. Apparently impervious to the hard punches being directed into his back and ribs, he kept speaking in a low, gentle voice – Bruce's voice, Damian realized belatedly. "Calm down. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you, I promise-"

Three sharp breaths were drawn as Dick pulled a clever contortionist's trick and slipped out of his father's grasp. "Shit!" Tim swore beside him, taking half a step forward. Before he could go further, there was an awful _pop-crack _from the direction of the combatants. An arid wail sounded, and Nightwing slumped to the floor. Batman followed him down, still holding the distorted limb that had given way with such a nauseating sound.

"I didn't mean to do that," the elder vigilante moaned. "Dick...I'm so sorry, kiddo. I didn't mean to hurt you, you just turned so _fast_..." Dick bucked under him, trying to continue the fight despite the dislocated shoulder he had just been given. "Hush, hush...you'll make it worse...Tim," he sighed when the words did no good. "Get me a sedative."

"On it." Red Robin wasted no time, and in a minute or so he and Batman were lifting the once again unconscious Nightwing into bed. "...Batman-"

"I know. I...I know." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "...I need you to go land the plane. We should be about there."

"I...okay." As he headed out, Damian noticed a trace of wetness on his cheeks. "Goddamn it," he heard him muttering as he exited the room. "This is _wrong_…"

"Robin."

Pulled away from the sight of Drake leaving in tears, he turned. "...Yes?"

Batman didn't look up at him until he'd finished tucking the blanket back in around Dick. When he did, Damian could feel the pain in his gaze despite the two sets of lenses between them. "...Turbulence?" a quiet, knowing question was broached.

He had to close his eyes again. "Yeah," he swore, feeling hot liquid squeeze out from under his squinched-shut lids. "...Turbulence. The worst...worst turbulence of my life."

A warm, heavy arm came down across his shoulders. He hesitated for only the space of a heartbeat, then dug in against his father's bulk and let his hurt pour out in the form of wordless sobs. _Come back, Dick. Come back..._


	15. Chapter 15

"Red Robin to base."

Alfred glanced towards where Barbara had disappeared a minute before, then picked up the radio. "Base here, young sir," he replied. "Is everything all right?" There were very few reasons he could think of for anyone but Batman to be flying the plane, and none of them were good. If Bruce had gone and gotten himself hurt or lost or...or something else...while Dick was still missing, the butler swore he'd have a fit.

"Things are...things are disturbing, to be honest. But, ah...we got Nightwing. So...yeah. There's that."

The lack of jubilation in that announcement drew a frown across his face. He had prepared himself for the likelihood that his charge would come home with injuries, but something in Tim's voice told him that he was in for a shock despite his efforts. Checking to be sure he was still alone, he dropped his voice. "I don't suppose you can elucidate any over the radio?"

"Um...no. Look, just bring a gurney down to the hangar, okay? We, uh...we had to sedate him."

His blood ran cold. Not wanting to get worked up unnecessarily, he'd spent the last two hours telling himself not to think about what four days of complete aural isolation might do to a social creature like Dick. The necessity of sedation implied that he ought to have gone the other direction and let himself panic, if only so that the reality might turn out to be less extreme than his imaginings. "Should I call some sort of backup out?" he asked now. Dr. Thompkins would be little more useful than he himself if there was psychological damage to be dealt with, but they had several allies at the Watchtower who were better versed in such things. "I could ring Superman. He'll know who's available."

There was a pause. "...I want to just say yes, but I think Batman's head will explode if we call the League without telling him. We'll be on the ground in a couple of minutes anyway, and Nightwing's secure until then. Let's wait, okay?"

"As you wish. I will see you shortly."

"Right. Out."

He was placing the handset back in the receiver when Barbara emerged from the changing area. "Was that them?!" she demanded, her hands flying as she rolled up at double speed. "What did they find?"

Uncertain of how he could break his bad-but-vague news in any sort of a kind manner, he opted to give her the facts flatly. "That was Master Tim. He says that they have found Master Dick and retrieved him, but that he had to be sedated. He did not explain why; he only requested that we be present in the hangar with a gurney when they land."

Her expression hung between happiness, terror, and tears. "They _sedated_ him?" she echoed. "Oh, god...Alfred, if he was in that place this whole time..."

"He's much more resilient than most, Miss Barbara," he replied, trying to reassure himself as much as her. "Than the vast majority, in fact. If anyone can maintain their sanity through such a trial, Master Dick can."

"That's the thing," she replied shakily. "_No one_ can maintain their sanity in that room. You heard me mention the record earlier, and that was set by someone who _asked_ to go inside. Someone who was prepared for it. If he just woke up in there, with no idea where he was or what had happened..." She bowed her head. "...This is too much..."

A light on the security panel lit up, indicating that the hangar's earthen lid was lifting out of the way to allow the Batplane to descend. They needed to get going if they wanted to be in place when the aircraft touched down, but he couldn't walk away without addressing the woman's comment. "I know this is difficult," he soothed, laying a hand on her shoulder, "but you must not abandon him. Whatever state he is in, he will need you now more than ever. Be here for him, I beg of you."

"Alfred..." Looking up at him, she gave a sad smile. "Have I really sunk so low in your esteem that you think I would leave him because of this?"

He struggled to pinpoint his emotions on the matter. "It isn't that my opinion of you has lessened in the years since he first showed an interest in you," he explained slowly. "It's rather that I understand that you have your own challenges to deal with and that you might not want to have this new and potentially extreme one piled on top of them. The way you spoke just now, I thought you might be angling towards...well...the same path, I suppose, that you have chosen in the past."

"Yeah..." Barbara took a deep breath. "I guess I can see why you would think that. I can't blame you, to be honest. But I'll tell you something I've learned about that path these last few days."

"And what is that?" he ventured.

"It's not the one I want to be on anymore." A hint of steel rose in her eyes. "I'm not going anywhere, Alfred. This might be one hell of a hill we're coming up on, but that just makes me want to know what's on the other side that much more. If I have to drag my boyfriend to the top kicking and screaming then so be it, but the last thing I'll do is leave him to climb it without me." A beat passed. "See you in the hangar," she added, then pushed herself away.

Watching her go, Alfred felt pride well up. _You picked a remarkably strong-willed woman, Master Dick,_ he thought. _Now if only I could get rid of this certainty I have that she's going to need all of her inborn stubbornness in order to cope with what's happened to you..._

Shaking his head, he moved to procure the gurney that had been requested. Barbara was long gone down the hallway towards the hangar, and her haste made him regret his words a moment before. Making a mental note to apologize for any hurt he'd caused when he could catch her alone again later, he quickened his step. The end of the tunnel drew near, and his eyes narrowed. Why on earth, he wondered, were the lights turned down so low?

"Don't!" Tim's voice rang out as Alfred stepped into the cave and reached for the dimmer switch. "Batman said he's really light sensitive. Even sedated, he doesn't want to risk it."

It was a worrisome request, but he didn't argue. "My tardiness hasn't delayed the proceedings, has it?"

"No. We landed just before Barbara came in. Bruce is still..." One gloved hand flailed towards the plane. "...Putting things together, I guess."

"...'Putting things together', young sir?" he repeated with something more than a trace of curious horror. There were many things that such a phrase could mean, and he didn't like the prospect of any of them.

"Yeah..." Tim looked back and forth between Barbara and Alfred, both of whom were staring at him. Seeming to realize what he'd just said, he jumped. "Oh! No, not like that. I mean, everything's still connected…you know…on him. It's just that we only got him settled down a few minutes ago, that's all."

It made no sense, and Alfred had to press for details. "I don't understand. You make it sound as if he was causing havoc during the flight, but surely he calmed down once he recognized all of you and his surroundings?"

"He might have, except..." A quiver ran through the younger man's mouth. "...Except I don't think he recognized anything. Us, the plane...none of it." His massive gulp was visible even in the low light. "It's like he's gone completely feral."

Barbara made a low groan in the back of her throat. "Feral?" she asked. "How? I just...I can't picture that."

"Good. You don't want to. It's horrible." He shivered. "Maybe I shouldn't tell you this, but...he punched Damian."

"Surely not!" The protest tore from Alfred's lips before the shock of the information had finished rippling through him. Dick adored his brothers; the idea of him striking any of them outside of sparring practice was as unbelievable as it was abhorrent. If he had, indeed, lashed out at his youngest sibling, then he was much further gone than any of them could have readied themselves for. "You must be exaggerating," he insisted.

Tim lowered his face. Beyond him, Barbara paled. "I know it's hard to swallow," he murmured. "But if you don't believe me, take a look at the kid's nose when he comes down the stairs."

A moment later they had the opportunity to do exactly that. Robin emerged from the plane first, turning to look anxiously behind him every few steps as he descended. Batman followed with an all-too-familiar figure cradled against his chest. Alfred's foot lifted off of the floor, then settled back down. There was no need to run forward, he chastised himself. They were coming to him, after all, and from the sound of things he ought to savor these last few moments of relative ignorance about his surrogate grandson's condition. As for Damian's obviously swollen face...well, there would be time to deal with that later.

"...Sir?" he queried when Batman went straight past him without a word. "Did you want the gurney?"

"He's been alone enough these last four days; I'll carry him. Robin, run ahead and turn down the lights between here and medical."

"But-!"

"We're right behind you. Go."

"Mmph...!" Grumbling, Damian took off down the corridor.

It was a somber procession back to the cave. The single peek of the unconscious man that Alfred had been afforded hadn't revealed any massive injuries, but that fact didn't do much to smooth his concern. His worry wasn't lessened once he was finally able to perform a physical examination, either. The deep scratches marring his patient's forearms were, to use Tim's word, disturbing; even more bothersome than that, however, was the buildup of blood and flesh he found beneath his broken fingernails. "He did this to himself, then?" he asked quietly, meeting Bruce's gaze across the table.

"I think so," the billionaire, uncowled but still clad in his suit, confirmed. "I didn't see any injuries on the technicians, and these are more like...claw marks...than cuts, so I don't think that they did it to him."

"The guy we talked to didn't say anything about him attacking people," Tim pitched in from where he stood beside Barbara at the foot of the bed. "All he mentioned was drawing blood."

"Hmm...have you any idea what happened here, then?" Alfred went on, lifting a reddened and puffy wrist.

Silence fell. "...I didn't see that before," Bruce shook his head eventually. "It might have happened when he...ah...when he fell."

"When he fell, sir?"

"On the plane," Tim said.

"On the plane, or..." Bruce trailed off, his face pinching.

"...Or what, Master Wayne?"

"Or when we turned the lights on."

"Wait," Barbara intervened. "Why were the lights off? And why would he fall over when they came on?"

The costumed trio exchanged a look before Bruce answered. "...We think he was in the dark for the last four days," he explained thickly. His hand came down softly to rest on Dick's forehead. "I didn't know. I thought maybe they'd just turned them off for the night, but...he had some sort of a...a seizure...when we turned them on."

"What?!" It was clear from Tim and Damian's simultaneous exclamations that they had not been made aware of that event. "Why didn't you tell us that before?!" Tim demanded angrily as Damian drew back further into a corner.

"Because I've been trying not to fucking think about it, that's why!" The figure on the bed twitched and gave a hoarse yelp as Bruce's sharp rebuttal sounded. "Ooh," he winced, his eyes glimmering with tears as his fingers began to comb back through unwashed locks. "I'm sorry, chum. I didn't mean to be so loud..."

"He can't have just reacted to that through sedation, can he?" Barbara inquired nervously.

"I don't see why not," Alfred answered. "If he's been left without sound or light for four days, there's no telling how low his tolerance threshold for those things has become. I'm just glad that we dimmed the lights before he was brought off of the plane; the last thing we want to do is give him another seizure. It sounds as if he's woken since that, though, yes?"

"Yes," Bruce nodded.

For some reason that the butler couldn't discern, that fact didn't seem to relax any of the pain in the other man's visage. "That's a good sign, sir," he advised, hoping to ease his mind a little. "I'd still like a scan done, just in be sure – he'll need one in any case based on Mr. Jack's allegation that a beanbag was used to render him unconscious – but with any luck his wakefulness means that he didn't acquire any serious damage during his fit."

"I didn't know that was going to happen," the billionaire whispered. "And I didn't know he was going to pull away like he did, either..."

_What? _"…You've lost me again, I'm afraid."

"I was trying to get him to calm down on the plane. He bolted, and I grabbed him – I didn't know where he was trying to go, I was afraid he'd hurt himself – and…he twisted away. He twisted away, and I didn't let go, and he…I…" He closed his eyes tightly. "…I dislocated his shoulder."

Barbara gasped.

"It was an _accident_," Bruce insisted. "I-"

"Of course it was an accident," Alfred cut him off. His voice was steady despite the way his hands were shaking as he began to strip off Nightwing's armor. "No one would dare think anything otherwise, Master Wayne. We all know you would never hurt him on purpose." Still, he thought as he cut through the thin fabric layered between Kevlar and skin, it was absolutely terrible. Guilt was rolling off of Bruce in palpable waves; he would have to add him to his list of people to have a private sit-down with once Dick was safely in bed. _I might as well just put them all on there,_ he mused bitterly. _And then add myself at the end for good measure…_

"There," he breathed as the disarticulated joint came into view. His stomach heaved at the odd shape he'd exposed, but he forced himself not to turn away. "It will need x-rayed, of course, but I wouldn't say it's the worst dislocation he's ever come home with." He paused. "It will heal, sir. If it's any consolation, given everything else that's going on he's not likely to remember the specifics of how this particular injury came about."

"_I _know, though," the billionaire hissed.

"…Yes, I suppose you do." There was nothing else he could say to that, so he kept quiet. Working in silence, it didn't take him long to finish his checks. The only other injury that presented itself was the massive knot at the back of Dick's head, and he sighed in relief. "Well, that's all of it that I can find. His wrist appears to be a simple sprain, but so long as we're taking pictures of his shoulder anyway we ought to make certain. I can dress his arms here easily enough; there are only a few spots that will require sutures. The question is," he focused on Bruce, "where do we want to proceed from there? I can call Dr. Thompkins and we can use our x-ray equipment here, but we'll have to go elsewhere to run the MRIs." The Watchtower was the obvious solution, of course, but he knew that saying as much would only make the lone wolf across from him bristle.

"We don't have much of a choice," Bruce grimaced, apparently coming to the same conclusion. "I don't want to wait until morning to try and take him somewhere else for scans, and we'd have a hell of a time explaining what happened anyway. We're already going to have that problem as it is. Besides…depending on who's there, maybe someone can get inside his head and…well…fix things."

Alfred wasn't going to hold his breath in anticipation of such an invasive technique's success, but he kept his skepticism to himself. "Very good. Shall I clean him up before you go?" _Say yes,_ he begged. _Let me do something to care for him before you take him away from me tonight. Please._

"We can't go right away. I need a minute to change," Barbara put in. "…I'm staying with him."

Bruce held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. "Good. Boys?"

"We're coming, too," Tim said firmly. "Right, Damian?" There was no response. Looking over his shoulder, his mouth turned down. "…Where'd he go?"

"Oh, _hell_," the billionaire groaned.

"Hold on," Barbara pulled her hands from where they had been resting on Dick's blanket-covered shin. "I'll check the changing area."

"I'll look for his motorcycle," Tim said. "Be right back."

Left alone with his eldest charge, Alfred seized his opportunity. "This isn't your fault, Bruce."

"Which part?" a scathing reply came. "Dick being kidnapped and tortured and then having his arm half ripped off, or Damian running away just now?"

"Both," he stressed. Reaching across the unconscious figure they both loved, he gripped his elbow. "This is _not_ your fault, my boy, none of it. You cannot blame yourself for what's happened. You _must_ not."

Bruce sniffled. "..I'm trying, Alfred, but it's impossible. How can I _not_ blame myself?"

"Simple, sir; by remembering that they don't." He waited for the younger man to wipe his cheeks dry of the few tears that had wet them, then pulled back. "Now, then," he said with a briskness that he didn't feel, "I'll just get Master Dick cleaned up a bit before you take him. I'm sure Master Damian hasn't gone-"

"His motorcycle's still here," Tim interrupted as he strode back into the room.

"And he's changed out of his costume," Barbara added, rejoining them.

"He's still in the house, then," Bruce mused aloud. "All right. Ah…"

"I'll stay," Tim volunteered. He didn't look happy about it, but his tone was resigned. "I, uh…I have an idea of where he might have gone. I'll follow you guys once I find him and let Alfred know where he is, okay?"

"…Good. Barbara?"

"I'll go change. Be right out." And she disappeared again.

Tim lingered to stare blankly at his brother's expression, which remained pained despite the drugs in his system, for several long seconds. "…Master Tim?" Alfred said gently when he didn't move.

"Huh?!" He jerked himself straight. "…Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I'm…I'm going." With a final pensive glance towards Dick, he headed for the lockers.

Turning back to Bruce, Alfred found him doing the exact same thing that Tim had been. _Bloody hell,_ he cursed. _What am I going to do with all of you if he doesn't return to his usual self, and quickly at that?_ No, he corrected himself; he mustn't think of such things. If he just got him cleaned up so that the people at the Watchtower would have a slightly easier task ahead of them, everything would be fine. Surely that small effort would make a difference in the long run...

Pursing his lips to keep the quivering fear-beast in his stomach in check, he went to fetch a damp washcloth with which to do what little he could.


	16. Chapter 16

When Barbara emerged from the changing area, she found a re-cowled Batman strapping a thick sleeping mask over his son's eyes. "To block out the Zeta light," he explained before she could ask. "...If you're ready, let's go."

"I'm ready," she agreed.

"Good luck, sir," Alfred bade. He clenched a bloody rag in one fist as he watched Dick be lifted from the table. "I'll send Master Tim along as soon as I can."

"Mm. Thanks," Batman rumbled as he strode away. Barbara sent a weak smile in the butler's direction, then rolled after her former mentor.

Nightwing didn't so much as groan when they teleported. His extra mask was useless against the loud exclamation that greeted them as they stepped into the hallway a second later, however. "What's happened _now_?!" Superman called, rushing down the corridor to meet them. Dick yelped and nearly twitched his way out of Batman's grasp, and the Kryptonian stopped cold. "...What's going on?" he asked more quietly, a note of dread creeping into his words.

"It's a long story. Keep your voice down," the cowled man hissed back as he hitched his load into a more secure position. "He's extremely light and sound sensitive." He paused. "I need the MRI machine."

Superman raised an eyebrow as he fell into step beside them. "You're going to put him in an MRI machine when he's sound-sensitive?"

"He was knocked out with a beanbag to the back of the head, and he's had at least one seizure since. You're damn straight I'm putting him in an MRI machine. If we put noise-canceling headphones on him, I think it might be enough to keep him oblivious."

"What about sedating him?"

"He's already sedated. Heavily."

"...Oh." They made several turns in silence. "Does he have any other injuries?"

The muscles in Batman's jaw tightened. "...Yes," he ground out. "Several."

"Who-"

"I _said_ it's a long story. Not now."

"I was going to ask who you want me to get," Superman said gently. "Dr. Mid-Nite is down at S.T.A.R., but I don't think it was an emergency. I'm sure he'd come back immediately if I called him and explained the situation."

"Mm...unless something shows up on the MRI or x-rays his physical injuries shouldn't require surgery. Besides, there's something he needs that Dr. Mid-Nite can't do."

"What-"

"Not now."

Shut down, Superman shot a curious glance at Oracle. She turned her head away before their eyes could meet. _Don't ask me for details,_ she begged. _I don't want to think about what's happened, let alone explain it. _

They filed into an abandoned room whose only furnishing was a pale mechanical bulk. As soon as the door was shut, the Kryptonian crossed his arms. "Bruce. What's going on? There's no one to overhear, so _tell_ _me_. What's wrong with him?"

Batman finished laying Nightwing on the apparatus' sliding table before he answered. "...He spent the last four days locked in an anechoic chamber with all of the lights off," came finally. "By the time we found him, he was..." He took a deep breath. "He lashed out at us. He hit Robin, and he hit...me." The last word hung tremulously in the air. "I don't know what's wrong with him. All I know is that someone needs to get inside his head and fix whatever that room did to him."

Superman gaped for a long second. "Four _days_?"

"Yes. Four days."

"Why didn't you call-?"

"That doesn't matter right now, Clark," a low bark cut him off. "It doesn't matter. Just...just get me someone who can fix this. Get me J'onn."

"I haven't seen him tonight, but-"

"I said _get him_." Now that he'd settled on a name, Batman's brief uncertainty seemed to have fled. "It has to be him. He can get inside his head and find out what's going on, and-"

"And he's known him almost as long as I have," Superman finished. "Familiarity."

"Right. Familiarity." The black-clad man's shoulders slumped as he reached out and brushed an errant strand of hair off of his child's sweat-prickled forehead. "...Not that familiarity seems to matter to him right now," he muttered under his breath, "but maybe it will make some sort of a difference."

"...Okay. I'll find him. But first, what are you worried about besides his head? I'll take a preliminary look, and if I don't see anything maybe we can spare him the potential light exposure from the x-ray machine."

Batman stepped slightly out of the way. "Left wrist and shoulder."

A beat passed. "...Well, his shoulder's definitely out of place," Superman ruled. "But I don't see any fractures. You might want to check the soft tissue so long as you've got him in there, though," he suggested, tilting his head towards the machine they were gathered around. "...No breaks in his wrist, either, and everything else looks good. Except these," he frowned at the deep marks in Nightwing's forearms. "What are these from?"

Batman didn't answer, but his lips pressed together so hard that they seemed to disappear in the dusky light of the room. "...We think they're from him," Oracle offered, taking pity on the uninformed Kryptonian. "He...he was hurting himself in that room. Agent A cleaned him up a little, but we wanted to get here fast. There wasn't time to bandage them."

She wasn't sure she had ever seen as disturbed an expression on Superman's face as the one that crossed his features in response to her words. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it. After a second he swallowed, raised his hand to grip Batman's shoulder tightly, and tried again. "...I'll get J'onn," he promised, and walked away.

Twenty minutes passed. Sitting in semi-darkness with Nightwing's cold fingers pressed between her palms, Barbara tried valiantly not to cry. She hadn't thought that her spirits could plunge any lower than they had when she'd heard that Dick didn't recognize his own family. She'd been wrong, though, dreadfully, damningly wrong. Every moment that went by without some indication of sane wakefulness from the man on the table threw another handful of sand on the tiny flame of hope she was trying to nurture. She hated herself, not only for the wasted months and years that she had already lamented to Bruce but also for not being able to maintain a positive attitude.

If she were the one on the table, she had no doubt that Dick would avoid the despair that had seeped into every corner of her brain. He would be planning for when she was better, not wondering what life would be like if she never recovered. She lacked his strength, and her weakness felt like a betrayal of his trust in her. _I'm sorry, Dick,_ she apologized silently as her thumb stroked the tops of his knuckles. _I'm so sorry, and for so many things...just give me a chance to tell you, please..._

The door opened suddenly, letting four people into the room. At the head of the line was Superman; behind him came Martian Manhunter and a fretful-looking Wonder Woman. Flash nipped in at the last moment, his presence announced by nothing but a reddish blur until he halted at her elbow. "What happened?" he demanded.

"I think we'd all like a little more elucidation on that point," Wonder Woman said. As she drew up on the other side of the table, her lips turned down. "Oooh," she pouted as she reached out to cup Dick's cheek. "It's okay...hush, honey, you're safe..."

"What is it?" Flash queried, his tone rising. "What's wrong with him?"

"Keep your voice down," Superman urged.

"Look, all I heard was 'seizure' and 'Nightwing'. If you want me to keep it down, tell me what's going on!"

"Everybody back away," J'onn broke in authoritatively. "Right now. _Back away_."

Oracle obeyed immediately, rolling rearward several feet and tugging Wally with her. Across the way, Superman had dragged Wonder Woman back. "Listen to J'onn," she ordered as both the speedster and the Amazon struggled. "It's important."

"But-!"

"Flash, be quiet, please," Martian Manhunter directed firmly. "...He knows we're here."

She felt a brief flutter of happiness. If he knew they were there, did that mean that he recognized them, or at least understood that they were trying to help? If he knew they were there, she bit her lip, then maybe it would all be okay...

Wonder Woman's next words crushed her joy. "J'onn, he's terrified," she all but whined. "If someone could just touch him...you know how he responds to touch..."

"I know how he usually responds to touch," he replied, staring hard at the man in the center of the semi-circle they'd made. "But nothing about him right now is usual. You and Oracle were both touching him a moment ago, yet so many of us hovering over him nearly drove him into another fit. We need to give him space." He paused. "...Batman?"

The summoned man materialized from the shadows in one corner. "Yes?"

"...You may approach slowly."

Batman hesitated. "He didn't recognize me earlier," he breathed.

"I know. Superman told me. But I need to read his reaction myself, and in a more controlled situation than what just occurred. Don't worry, I'll stop you before he becomes too flustered."

Barbara watched as Batman took careful, measured steps towards the table. Flash shifted beside her, his outline fuzzing as he began to vibrate nervously. "Calm down," she whispered.

"I just want to know-"

"Shh!" Martian Manhunter hushed them with unusual impatience. "We don't want him to know that we're here."

They fell silent. Batman took another step, then stopped as Nightwing gave an audible growl. "...Should I...?"

"Retreat, quickly."

Barbara swiped away a tear as Batman obeyed. _'Feral,' _Tim's descriptor rang in her head, and now she understood. Despite its track record of making criminals soil themselves, Batman's signature rumble had nothing on the primal, aggressive snarl that Dick had just produced. The sound of a maddened and wounded beast had come from the throat of a gentle and loving man, and she couldn't stand it.

Flash apparently couldn't, either. "Why the hell does he sound like a rabid dog?" he asked, his voice shaking. "Somebody explain what's going on. Please, just...just explain this to me, okay? Tell me why he sounds like that."

"Superman," J'onn said, "please take everyone into the control room. Batman...you should tell them everything you know."

"What about the MRI?" Batman rebutted.

"I want to explore what's going on psychologically before we subject him to that. I may be able to lessen his sensitivity somewhat, or at least get enough of a grip on him that I can dampen his fear once we begin the procedure. You all have to go, though; I can't work with him on the edge of panic like this."

The atmosphere in the next chamber grew more and more somber as each person entered. "Bruce," Wonder Woman spoke plaintively once the door was shut. "What happened?"

It was a sign of the seriousness of the situation that Batman didn't react to her use of his civilian name. He outlined the events of the last four days in a hollow voice, keeping his face turned towards the window through which Nightwing was still visible. None of the others looked pleased about being kept out of the loop for four days, but no one interrupted to lodge a complaint. When the tale was told in full, silence fell over the assembly.

"...So what?" Flash ventured after several minutes. "He's...he's insane now, or...?" His eyes shone with unshed tears. "Where is this going?"

"We don't know," Superman said.

"He's _not_ insane," Batman insisted. "...He's not. He's just...

"Lost," Wonder Woman supplied. "He's just lost."

"Okay, but for how long?" Wally pressed. "A week? A month? Ten years? I mean...there's no case history to refer to, is there? No one's been locked up like that for so long before, right?"

"Not in an anechoic chamber," Barbara verified quietly. _Forty-five minutes. Four days. One hundred and twenty-eight times longer than the record...Dick, I'm so sorry...come back to me..._

"The closest case history I've been able to think of are the gaol 'black holes' that were once used for the most violent offenders and for prisoners requiring discipline," Batman murmured distractedly. "But even they weren't soundless. Not like that room was. It's not the same; his experience was worse..."

"All we can do is wait," Superman advised. "We'll just wait and see, and then do what J'onn tells us is best. If there's anything we can do to help, I'm sure he'll let us know."

Wonder Woman moved to the window and placed her hand on the glass. "I've never felt him so confused and frightened before," she whispered. "So...so _hopeless_."

Oracle gasped at that word, then burst into tears. "I'm sorry," she sobbed, embarrassed by her sudden loss of control. "I'm sorry, just...just don't say that. Please, don't...don't say that he feels hopeless. Even if it's true, just...just don't say it. Please..." _He can't be hopeless. Not him. Anything but that. _If Dick was hopeless then they might as well all give up right now, and she couldn't stand the thought.

Warm hands picked up her own. "I'm sorry," Diana apologized from where she'd knelt down. "I'm sorry, Oracle, I didn't mean...I didn't mean it like that. I should have chosen my words more carefully...of course he's not hopeless. Of course not. Right, boys?" she asked pointedly, turning to stare at the men.

"...Sure," Flash said hoarsely, his eyes wide.

"Of course not," Superman nodded.

"...Batman?" Wonder Woman pressed.

"J'onn's coming in," he said.

Barbara wiped uselessly as her still-watering eyes as the Martian entered. The last ten minutes had left him looking haggard, and the tension in the room spiked as the others picked up on the change.

"Well?!" Batman demanded finally, his voice nearly cracking from strain.

"Well..." He moved to the chair in front of the computer and dropped into it. "...Well, you may have trained him too well."

Frightened glances flew about the room. "What the hell does that mean?" Batman asked.

J'onn sighed. "I don't know for certain what occurred in that room, but I have a theory. I believe that Nightwing knew he was beginning to lose control over his own mind. Recognizing that, he barricaded himself – his personality, his memories, everything that makes him who he is – behind as many defenses as he could put up. Speaking simply, he went into survival mode in an attempt to save his sanity. By doing so he let the more animalistic part of his mind take over.

"The problem is that due to the nature of the anechoic chamber he must have locked himself away very early. I would wager that even someone of his impressive mental fortitude would only last a few hours at the most in such a place before they began to break down. If I'm correct, then the base part of him has been in control for days, and has spent those days being tortured. I do believe that he could take control of himself again, but the longer he's secluded the harder it will be. What's more, I don't think he'll even attempt to regain power until he knows that he is out of the chamber and in a safe place."

"But he _is_!" Flash cried out. "So why doesn't he just do it already?!"

"He doesn't know," J'onn explained. "He has no idea where he is or what he can expect to happen next. He closed out the entire world as part of his defenses. I tried to work my way in to him, but as I said, he's too well trained. It's almost," his eyebrows jerked suggestively skyward, "as if he was trained to avoid me in particular. The point is, I could not get through to him."

"You're sure he's still there, though?" Batman asked.

"Yes. He's still in his head _somewhere_, and more or less intact, I'd wager. It's just a question of drawing him out."

"But how do we do that?" Wonder Woman inquired. "If he's blocked the world out so entirely that _you_ can't even get through...how do we tell him that it's safe to come back?"

"...His safeword," Batman said after a moment. Straightening up, he moved towards the door. "I haven't tried his safeword yet. But..." He paused. "It may not work."

"You're the only person with our safewords," Barbara objected. "He would have had to consciously choose to block you out, and he would never do that."

"If he was throwing up every defense he could think of and being driven mad in the meantime, there's no telling what he might have done." He turned to Martian Manhunter. "J'onn...is it safe for me to try this?"

"Yes. I believe so, at least. I couldn't get to Nightwing – the real Nightwing – but I did manage to do some work with his primal brain. He should be more docile now, at least so long as there's only one person near him. Groups seem to trigger his defensive mechanisms."

"...I meant safe for _him_."

"Ah. Yes, it should be. I'll monitor him from here and let you know if you need to back up."

"Right. Good."

"Good luck, Batman."

Everyone in the control room held their breath as he approached the table. When a gauntleted hand touched his arm, Nightwing shuddered. Batman froze.

"Go ahead," J'onn spoke softly into the intercom. "He's just frightened."

"Nightwing frightened of Batman," Superman muttered, shaking his head with a pained wince.

"It's wrong," Wonder Woman opined sadly. "So very wrong...poor baby..."

Seconds ticked by as Batman bent down and, Barbara assumed, whispered the safeword. "...Anything?" she asked anxiously.

"No change," J'onn reported disappointedly. "He's tried twice now. It's just not getting through." He stood up. "Batman's not coming back in, so I'll tell all of you what I'm going to tell him when I get out there. This is going to be a waiting game. I don't know what will suffice to rouse Nightwing from the state he's put himself in, but I'll do what I can to keep him calm until then."

"There's _nothing_ we can do?" Diana queried.

"There's a chance that the only line to the outside world he left open was his animal nature itself. If that's the case, then the best way to draw him out is to make him as comfortable as possible and to maintain control over his exposure to stimuli. Perhaps if we can lull him into a sense of security he'll realize that he's among allies. However, as I said before he's very sensitive to crowds. I know you all want to be near him right now, and I'm sure that there are many others who will feel the same when they find out that he's...ill...but hovering is the worst thing you could possibly do."

"So we just have to _wait_?! From...from a _distance?!"_ Wally complained. "While he's...like that?"

"Yes. Oracle and Batman will escort him home once I've run the MRI and cleaned up his physical injuries, but I advise that none of the rest of you try to visit until something changes. I don't particularly like this either," he admitted, "but it's the best thing we can do to help him. I'm sorry."

_Waiting,_ Barbara thought miserably as J'onn exited the room. _I guess I've got it coming after all the waiting I made you do, but this is a shitty way to go about payback, sweetheart._ She sighed. _...Just don't make me wait the rest of my life, Dick. I would, I think, now that I know how...how I feel...but don't make me. I'd much rather we have that time to spend together._

_Wake up, sweetheart. Wake up and be the man I love..._


	17. Chapter 17

Tim looked up as footsteps echoed from the direction of the staircase. Rising from his position beside Dick's door, he stretched towards the ceiling until his back popped. "Ow. Shit..." Alfred came into view, and he blushed. "Sorry, Alfred," he apologized, assuming that he'd been overheard.

The butler glanced at him in surprise. "Hmm? Oh...my apologies, Master Tim, I wasn't listening. Did you say something?"

Less than eager to confess to a crime he could get away with and now concerned about the older man's uncharacteristic spaciness, he changed the subject. "Nothing. It wasn't important. Uh...are they back yet?"

"Yes. Master Wayne and Miss Barbara are preparing to bring Master Dick up in the elevator as we speak."

"And...how...I mean, is he okay?"

"His scans revealed no serious injuries besides a moderate concussion. His shoulder has been reseated, and his other wounds have been dressed as well. Mentally..." He hesitated. "Mentally he is much the same as he was earlier this evening, I understand, albeit a bit less aggressive thanks to Mr. J'onzz's work. They sedated him again before leaving the Watchtower, but I believe that the plan is to try and avoid drugging him once this round wears off."

The mention of Martian Manhunter brought on a wave of relief. If anyone could be trusted to hack Dick's mind and figure out what had gone wrong, it was J'onn. At the same time, Tim would have thought there would be more progress to report after a visit with one of the strongest telepaths in the universe. Was his brother so psychologically broken as to be unfixable? "Um...not that I'm not grateful, but...that's it? He's a little less violent? J'onn couldn't do anything else?"

"...Yes. Well..." Alfred angled his body slightly, and Tim would have sworn he saw him wipe away a tear. "We must consider ourselves fortunate for what progress was made, young sir. To hear Master Wayne tell the story it sounds as if a great deal of effort was put into determining the issue at hand and attempting to fix it. The progress that was made is better than none."

"Alfred..." He glanced back at the bedroom door to make sure it was still shut. Damian had been blatantly distressed when he'd found him earlier, and if the answer to his question was unpleasant he didn't want the kid to overhear. "...How bad is he? Really?"

"Apparently he locked himself behind every wall he could conjure up in order to save himself from true madness," the butler whispered. "It was painfully brilliant of him, but now...now no one seems to be able to get through his defenses in order to tell him that it's safe to come out. Not even Mr. J'onzz could manage the feat." A strange sound of mixed pride and despair escaped him. "I confess myself simultaneously delighted at Master Dick's quick thinking and impenetrable defenses and horrified by the idea that he may have accidentally locked himself up indefinitely. In any case, it seems that the only solution left is to make him as comfortable and secure as possible, and then wait."

"Wait?" He blinked in disbelief. "Just...just wait and see if he comes out of it on his own? _That's_ our treatment plan?!" _That's bullshit,_ he bit back.

"So it seems, Master Tim. It's all we have at the moment." A somber beat passed. "...Well. If you'll excuse me, I want to turn his bed down before he arrives. His own blankets and familiar surroundings are sure to do something to soothe him, don't you agree?"

"Hold on," Tim stopped him. "Damian's in there. He was asleep a little while ago. Maybe...maybe we should let him stay that way, you know?"

"Ah. I wondered if that was where he'd sneaked off to. When you didn't return to say you'd found him I wagered that he'd turned up here." Alfred heaved a sigh. "...Have you been sitting by the door this entire time? Master Wayne was curious as to why you never showed up at the Watchtower, and I couldn't answer him."

"I...I was. He just...he kind of cried himself to sleep earlier, after...after we talked a little." _I didn't want him to wake up and be alone,_ he swallowed. _Not after that._

"Oh, my...I'm afraid this has been terribly difficult on him, idolizing Master Dick as he does."

"Yeah, well..." Tim scuffed his sock on the carpet. "...He's not the only one."

"I know, dear boy. I know." A hand landed on his shoulder. "We'll just have to hold together and hope for the best, hmm?"

"...No offense, but that kind of feels like giving up."

"On the contrary, young sir. I daresay I can think of no medicine more attuned to your brother's way of thinking than hope. Can you?"

_Alfred, you clever bastard, _he thought wryly. "No. I guess not. But it's still hard, you know? _He's_ the hope king, not us."

"As I said, then, Master Tim; we shall have to work together." The butler pulled his fingers back, but not before relaying a gentle squeeze. "In regards to Master Damian, while I understand your desire to let him get what rest he can we really ought to put Master Dick to bed in his own room. I can wake him, if you like, but perhaps you might prefer to do it yourself?"

"...I'll do it, I guess." He'd put him to sleep, after all, so he might as well get him up.

"Very good. I'm sure that you have a better sense of exactly what he's feeling right now than I do; it's probably best if you explain how things are to him. I'll wait for the others out here so that you have a few moments of privacy."

"Yeah. Okay. Be right back."

"Take your time. They had yet to change when I left, so they should be another minute or two."

"Right..."

He slipped soundlessly into the darkened room and made his way towards the bed. Damian had buried himself in the numerous throw pillows and poufs that decorated the head of the mattress, and was barely visible amongst them. "Hey," Tim breathed, prudently stopping a few feet short. "Wake up."

A hiss from somewhere inside the pile told him that his suggestion was not a popular one. He tried again. "Look...they brought Dick back. They want to put him to bed. You're going to have to get up."

There was no sound for a moment. Then; "...Grayson won't care if I sleep here. He lets me, when I want."

"Damian..." Closing the gap, he dropped onto the rumpled blankets. _There's no gentle way to do this,_ he sighed. _Not with you, at least. _"You're right," he agreed. "Normally Dick would love it if you wanted to cuddle. But he's not him again yet. He's still...messed up."

"What?!" The teen sat up angrily, sending silk and satin cushions everywhere. "Why didn't they fix him? They were supposed to make him better!"

"Damian-"

"No! Don't 'Damian' me! A whole planet full of fricking superheroes go in and out of that place every day, and _no one_ could bring him back?! He's saved plenty of them before, but they couldn't return the favor?! They _owe_ him!"

"I know!" Tim exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "...I know. Look, J'onn tried. He _tried_, okay, but it wasn't enough. He couldn't get through." He paused to let that sink in. "Alfred says we just have to wait," he went on after a moment.

"Oh, _great_. Waiting. My favorite thing."

He couldn't keep himself from snorting at the bitter sarcasm in the younger male's voice. "Yeah. Me, too. But it gets worse; we also have to hope."

"...Are you kidding me with that drivel, Drake? What is our having hope supposed to do, exactly, besides turn this entire thing into a Lifetime movie?"

"Heh. Damn it!" He shook his head. "Would you stop making me laugh? It feels incredibly inappropriate right now."

"It is incredibly inappropriate right now. It's also-" He broke off, his eyes shining in the faint glow of the nightlight as they widened.

"It's also what?" Tim asked finally.

Damian ducked his head. "...It's also what he would do," he murmured. "He'd make us laugh right now, if he could. So...so that it wouldn't seem so bad. He'd make us laugh, or he'd say...I dunno, something stupid and sappy and perfect that made everything seem like it was going to be okay."

He was right. "Yeah...he would, wouldn't he?"

"Yeah. I guess...I guess it's our turn to do the same thing for him. Only, you know, while ducking." Reaching up, he rubbed at his nose. "...I still can't believe he hit me," he sniffed.

"Hey, now…" Tim nudged his foot to draw his attention. The punch and Damian's hurt confusion over it had made up the bulk of the conversation they'd had when he'd found him curled up in Dick's bed, and he wasn't about to go through all of that again. His reticence stemmed not from reluctance to address such a sensitive topic for a second time, but rather from the fact that Bruce wouldn't be much longer. They needed to clear the room, and soon. "It wasn't him, okay? It's like I said before. That wasn't him, and when he comes back to himself and realizes that he hit you-"

"Stop," the teen cut him off. "Just stop. I don't...I don't want to think about what it will be like then. I don't want to think about him being himself, and the hugging, and the apologies, and all that stupid sappy...Graysonness."

"...Why not?" he puzzled.

"Because I don't want to get myself excited for something that might not come true. I mean, I got excited for the...the trip," he admitted, "and now look at what's happened. We can't go if he's out of his mind and sensitive to noise and light, right? We're going to have to cancel. But this is way bigger than the trip. This is…this is forever, maybe. This is forever, and I just...I just don't want to set myself up to get hurt. So don't talk about what _might _happen."

If Tim had ever before felt as compassionate towards the lost looking boy beside him as he did in that moment, he couldn't recall it. "Damian," he started, his throat thick. "...I don't know what's going to happen with Dick, okay? I don't. But – and I know it wouldn't be the same, so don't freak out – but…well, if he doesn't get better by this time next...next year...then...then maybe I wouldn't mind if just you and I went on a trip. If you still want to, I mean. It wouldn't be what we planned, I know, but...it wouldn't be _so_ awful, would it?"

Damian raised his head from his knees and stared at him for a long moment. Then a tiny smile curved his lips, and Tim knew he'd said the right thing. "...No," the teen answered. "It wouldn't be _so_ awful."

"You could sit in the front seat that way."

"And I could hit you harder when you suggested dumb activities."

"Hey!"

"But I'd still rather that he could go with us."

"...Yeah. Me, too."

"...Drake?"

"Mm?"

"Um...thank you. For...for what you said earlier, and...and for now."

He glanced over. "Did it help?"

"I...yeah. It kind of did. I just...I just care about the goofy idiot. Don't you dare tell him I said that, but...I do. And I know you do, too, so it works. I think that you and I feel differently about this than Father and Pennyworth do, and different than Gordon, too." Damian looked away. "I know I could hypothetically talk to them, but it's kind of...nice...to talk to someone who actually understands. It, ah...it's more productive."

'_I'm sure that you have a better sense of exactly what he's feeling right now than I do', _Alfred's words rang in Tim's head. '_It's probably best if you explain how things are to him_.' They mixed with Damian's sentiments, drawing a frown across Tim's face. If it worked best for the teen to talk to someone who was experiencing the same pain as he was, mightn't the same method work on Dick? Finding another person who had been locked in an anechoic chamber for four days was impossible, obviously, but there had to be something closer to that than anything the rest of them had ever gone through. _Silence,_ he mulled. _Silence...Silence of the Lambs? _ No, that didn't make any sense. _Silence...is golden. Unless it drives you mad,_ he grimaced. _Not so great then. Silence..._

"...Drake?" Damian was peering at him.

"Hold on." _Silence. Be silent, Damian. _How often had he shouted some equivalent of that demand at the boy? He half regretted those many instances in hindsight. _Silent as a ninja._ _Silent as the grave..._

He would have sworn he heard a _pop_ as an idea sprung into being in his mind. "Holy shit," he said, flabbergasted by his conclusion. "...Holy shit, I've got it."

"Got _what_?"

"An answer. Maybe. I think. Just..." He didn't dare go alone, but he knew there was no chance that Bruce would leave the house until Dick had either improved or so much time had gone by without improvement that none seemed likely anymore. Besides, he didn't want to get the poor man's hopes up only to have them dashed if Jason refused to come. "I need you to come with me," he said urgently as the doorknob half-turned, then fell back into place at the behest of a voice in the hall.

"What, right now? I want to see Grayson first," Damian rebutted, crossing his arms.

"You'll have all day to see him, don't worry. We're not going anywhere until tonight. But I need you to come with me then, okay?"

"Where?"

"...Red Hood's territory."

The teen's expression grew predatory. "Are we going to make him pay?" he asked.

"_No_. We're going to make him help."

"That makes no sense. He's part of the reason Grayson is how he is; how can he _help_?"

"First of all, I'm not a hundred percent sure that he had anything to do with this. I know you still believe he did, so let's not argue about it," he added quickly as storm clouds gathered on Damian's brow. "But even if he did...well, think about what you just said. Talking to me helped you because we're having a very similar experience right now. Right?"

"That's what I said, yes."

"Okay. So how about this; Dick was stuck in a dark, silent box for a long time." He paused. "_So was Jason_."

Damian started. "...The coffin?" he ventured.

"Exactly. His coffin. I know it wasn't technically a silent room like what Dick was in, but if that's not the closest thing to it that anyone's ever experienced then I don't know what is. Plus," another piece of evidence clicked into place, "remember what the Joker said to Bruce? That Jason might know what Dick's going through?"

"…Huh."

He could tell that the boy was slowly swinging in his direction, so he played his trump card. "Besides," he leaned forward eagerly, "if _anything_ will force Dick to come out from behind his walls it's the idea of all of us being under one roof."

"Yeah, there's no way the dork could resist that."

"You'll come with me, then?"

"Yes. I have to." Damian averted his eyes when Tim sent him a quizzical look. "...If Todd was willing to hurt Grayson, what will he do to you if you go by yourself? Don't get me wrong, you're incredibly annoying and all of that, but...that doesn't mean I want to be an only child again. With Grayson screwed up and you dead...anyway," he went on quickly, "Father would have a fit if I had to kill Todd because he was working his way down the line. First Grayson, then you...I have no intentions of becoming one of his victims, but I also don't have any interest in being grounded until I'm thirty. If I go with you, maybe I can avoid both outcomes."

Tim smirked. "That's why you're coming along, huh? So you don't get grounded for killing Jason later on?"

"I still haven't decided not to do that as payback for the state that Grayson is in. I also don't know how you're going to convince him to come and help. But...it might work. If you can get him here, it might just work, and since it sounds like everyone else has practically given up-"

"That's what I said," Tim nodded.

"-We have to try. We…we owe him."

"We owe him a lot more than this, but it's a start."

"Mm." Neither spoke for a moment. "...We're not telling Father, right?"

"Right. I think this needs to be a secret mission." It was probably going to take some finagling just to get the man to release them to patrol the next night, let alone to go into enemy territory. "There's no point in worrying him worse than he already is."

Damian gave him a long, appraising look. "...You know something, Drake?"

"What?"

"Sometimes – very, very rarely, but sometimes – I almost understand why Grayson thinks you're a genius."

Tim smiled, both embarrassed and pleased. "...Thanks. You're not so bad yourself. Now," he dropped his voice as the door knob turned all the way and a shaft of light appeared from the hallway, "...silence."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: There will be some Jason in the next chapter, for those of you who have been looking forward to that. Kudos to the several of you who figured out that Jason's 'death' experience would come into play in this story. Happy reading!<strong>


	18. Chapter 18

The next eighteen hours were some of the worst that Damian had ever experienced.

Grayson was too pale when he was carried in, and the bandages swathing his arms from wrist to elbow brought back unpleasant memories of the previous summer. The faint shake in his father's hands as he pulled the blankets up and brushed back the unconscious man's hair didn't help anything, and neither did the look of uselessness on Pennyworth's face as he hovered at the foot of the bed. Gordon hung back by the door, her lips pursed as she watched her boyfriend being tended to. Drake's gaze was the only one that didn't relay at least a trace of hopelessness, and it was to him that the teen ended up glancing each time the others' expressions began to drag him down.

Very little was said during the first hour. Dick twitched occasionally as if he was caught in a dream, but made no other motions except those necessary for breathing. The room filled with a thick stupor of the sort that was generally found lingering over funerals for the unexpectedly dead. All of them were horribly sleep-deprived, and one by one they began to nod off where they stood or sat. Had the cause of their vigil not begun to awaken when he did, they might have found themselves taking a family siesta; as it was, Damian nearly missed the first warning sign.

"Hey," he murmured as a few fingers started to explore the bedspread. "...Hey," he said a bit more loudly when no one replied. "I think he's coming out of it, or something."

"Hmph?!" Bruce snorted, jerking upright in his chair. "...What did you say?"

"Look," he nodded. The hand he'd spotted venturing forth was tracing a line of stitching now, sliding along the threads in a curious caress. "He wasn't doing that before, was he?"

"No," Barbara verified, rolling closer to see. Wiping sleep from her eyes, she peered towards the action. "He didn't do it at the Watchtower, either."

"...What do you think?" Tim asked. "Is he coming out of it?"

"The timing's about right," Bruce said. Dick's eyelids began to flutter. "...Yeah. He's coming around. The rest of you should leave."

"What?!" Damian objected. "Why?!"

"First of all, keep your voice down," his father hissed. "He's still noise sensitive. Second, J'onn said he's not ready for large groups. More than one or two people being around at a time seems to scare him. He's not hitting anymore, but we still don't want to terrorize him. He's had enough of that lately. Third, I'm the one who was present both times that he's woken up so far; it might help him to see a familiar face, especially since he's in a...well, in a new setting."

"But-"

But Drake had grabbed his elbow and was hauling him out of the room. "Let's _go_, Damian," he urged. "...Let us know when we can come in, Bruce. We'll be close by."

"It doesn't make any _sense_!" he accused when they stopped a short distance down the hallway. "He was Batman the last time Grayson woke up. For all intents and purposes he's never _seen_ Father as a civilian!"

"So what?!" Tim whispered.

"So why should _he_ get to be the one who stays?" _I want to stay,_ he pouted internally. _I want to see him. Even if he still doesn't know who I am..._

"Don't be stupid. Of course Bruce has to be the one who stays this time." Tim sighed. "...Look, you're right. His third point didn't make any sense. But if you piss him off he's never going to let us go out tonight. I don't want to wait another day, and I don't want Dick to have to wait another day either, so just...just chill, okay?"

"Ugh...okay, fine."

"Good. Now c'mon; Barbara and Alfred are watching us. If we spend too much time off by ourselves someone's going to suspect something."

"I know that much, Drake," he rolled his eyes. "Let's go join them."

"Well, young sirs," the butler addressed them as they drew close, "Miss Barbara and I were just discussing breakfast. Would you like something to eat before you head off to bed for a few hours?"

"I don't have much of an appetite right now, to be honest," Tim said.

"That's what I told him," Barbara commiserated.

"I understand why you may not be feeling very hungry right now, but you ought to eat something." Alfred dropped his voice. "You might do so for no other reason than to ensure that none of you give Master Wayne something else to worry about by fainting or becoming ill in some other manner."

Damian thought he would probably be ill just from the sight of food, but he didn't want to give Red Hood any advantage when they slipped into his territory tonight. He had to at least try to be in the best condition possible. "I'll eat," he volunteered.

Alfred sent him a pleased nod. "Thank you, Master Damian. How about you, Master Tim?"

"...I'll try. No guarantees, though."

"I expected none, young sir. There, Miss Barbara; I'm afraid you're outnumbered."

"I know it," she grimaced. "...Okay. I think I can at least manage some toast."

"Very good. I'll make you some tea, as well. You may find that it eases your stomach admirably."

"Your tea usually does, Alfred," she gave him a nauseated smile. "See you downstairs in a few minutes."

She wheeled off towards the elevator, and Tim made to follow Alfred down the stairs. When Damian hesitated, though, he turned back. "...Coming?"

"Yeah. I just want to change socks. My feet are kind of cold."

It was a lie, but he was good at those. Despite his skill, though, Tim didn't swallow the ruse without a healthy dose of skepticism. He glanced at the entrance to Dick's room, then back to the boy. "...Right. Well...see you at breakfast, I guess."

"Yeah. Breakfast."

He tiptoed to the door as soon as the others were gone. It opened with an almost-silent _click_ and let him slither into the dusk. Pressing his back tight against the wall, he listened.

"Damian," his father's voice asked immediately. "I told you to go."

"He can't see me," he replied. Indeed, the way the room was laid out meant that his position was completely invisible from the bed. Only a conveniently placed mirror allowed him to spy on the semi-unconscious man without being seen. There was no question that the billionaire had been the primary driver behind the glass' long-ago placement, but for once Damian wasn't perturbed by his penchant for knowing everything his family was up to at any given moment. In this instance, at least, that obsession had turned into something that _he_ could use. "I can't upset him if he doesn't know I'm here. I..." He faltered. "I just want to see him, okay?"

There was a long pause. "...Where are the others?"

"They went downstairs for breakfast. I made an excuse, but I won't be able to stay long on it. I'll go in a minute, just..." He gritted his teeth and let a rarely-used word slip from his lips. "...Please?"

A hint of a sad smile appeared on the part of Bruce's face that he could see. "...All right, Damian," he conceded. "You can stay for a few minutes. But if he gets nervous – if I tell you to go – you go without question. Understood?"

"Agreed."

They reached their accord and ceased speaking just in time. Damian had barely gotten comfortable leaning against the wall when the man in the mirror opened his eyes. As soon as he focused on Bruce, his features morphed into a mask of fear.

"Hush, chum," the billionaire soothed. "It's okay. You're safe. You're home. It's okay now..."

Dick gave no sign that he even recognized the words being spoken. Scooting backwards, he made it to the opposite edge of the mattress. Once his feet were on the floor he dropped into a protective crouch, cradling his bad arm to keep it from swinging.

"It's okay, kiddo. Relax. Come back to bed, you need to lay down..."

It was useless. He slipped beyond the purview of the mirror, and Damian couldn't see him anymore. Leaning got him a glimpse of a pajama-clad knee, but once that was gone he was blind. _Dick...come on,_ he pleaded. _Listen to him. Of all the people in the world, you know he'd never hurt you..._

Bruce hadn't moved from his chair, but he kept talking in a steady, gentle monotone. "If you're more comfortable on the floor, that's okay," he murmured. "But take a blanket with you. You don't want to get cold down there. I can get you food and water; all you've got to do is ask, Dicky. Just some little sign, and I'll get you whatever you need. It's okay. Just talk to me..."

He could have stayed there all day and listened, his heart pounding in his chest as he begged for something, _anything_ to happen that would tell them his brother was still intact in his own body. Less than five minutes had elapsed, however, before his father told him to go. "I know he can't see you or hear you," he explained, "but I think he knows you're there anyway. He keeps looking in your direction. Go eat, and then come back; if there's no change by then, I'll swap out and let you sit with him for a little while."

Unhappy but not wanting to make the situation worse by arguing, he slipped back out of the room. Tim stood waiting in the hall with his arms crossed. "...Socks, huh?" he arched an eyebrow.

"Shut up," he said without any ire.

"How is he?"

"He's..." The wide-eyed stare that had been on Dick's face as he'd retreated from a non-existent danger rose in the back of his mind. "He's scared," he answered simply. "He's acting like a...a beaten dog. Just cowering in the corner." His face contorted with sudden rage. "It's _pathetic,_" he spat. "He's better than that. He _knows_ better than that. Where is he? Why doesn't he just come out?!"

"...He can't, Damian. That's the whole problem."

"I know, but..." His throat grew thick. "...Why's it always _him_, huh? Why is it always Grayson?"

"I don't know," Tim shrugged. "I'd take his place right now in an instant. Not that I particularly want to be out of my mind or anything, but if I knew it would make him better... Well. We don't have that option, so..."

"So we stick with the other plan."

"Right." A pitying look came across Tim's face. "Let's get you some different socks so that your story holds up, then go to breakfast. Alfred's going to start wondering if we don't show up soon, and-"

"I know," Damian cut him off. "We need to allay suspicion. I...I know." He glanced over his shoulder at Dick's door. _See you in a little while, Grayson,_ he thought. _And don't worry; we're going to get you a solution. If I have to drag Todd back here by his teeth,_ he sneered, _we're going to get you a solution. _

_ The others might give up on you, but __I__ won't. After all...you never gave up on me._

* * *

><p>There was no change to Dick's condition as the day worn on. No matter who was sitting with him or what they were saying, he kept his back against the wall and just stared at them. Once or twice he'd dozed off, only to jerk awake again with a yelp followed by five minutes of trembling. In the mid-afternoon they managed to get him to drink a little water and some broth, but they could only do so by setting the bowls down on the floor and leaving the room. All told, none of them felt very useful.<p>

It was for that reason that Damian was glad when darkness fell and the idea of a patrol could be broached. Bruce looked surprised when Tim mentioned that they were going out, but all he bade them do was be careful, stick together, and call in every half hour. They agreed to those terms gladly, and by the time Gotham's clocks were striking a discordant eleven they were loafing behind the insurance sign near Jason's borders.

"How are we doing this?" he asked. They hadn't discussed tactics at all, but he couldn't imagine anything short of a beat down that might work on someone of Todd's legendary stubbornness.

"Just follow me, and don't do anything crazy," Red Robin answered, his gaze riveted to the building across the street as he tightened his gloves.

"...'Crazy'?"

"Don't hit him unless he hits you. Okay?"

"What if he hits you?"

The man paused. "...Since when do you hit people for hitting me?"

"I don't know," he sputtered, coloring with embarrassment. "I just...isn't that why you brought me along?!"

"Yeah. I guess it is. But I know you still think he was involved in the kidnapping, so don't go all firecracker on him unless you have to, okay? He doesn't respond well to that sort of thing, and we want him in as good a mood as possible."

"Does he have those? Good moods?" Everything he'd ever heard from anyone who wasn't Dick suggested that the opposite was true.

"Not that I've ever seen, but maybe we can coax one out of him tonight. Let's go." With that he took off, swinging across the road and landing brazenly in Hood's domain.

"Fat chance," Damian muttered as he followed. "...Well? Are we searching, or what?" he pressed as soon as he touched down. It struck him as odd that their quarry hadn't shown up as soon as they made motions to cross the boundary, especially after their last two encounters with him. _If you're hiding...oh, if you're hiding, Todd, I __will__ root you out. _Taking cover was as good as an admission of guilt in his book. _If you're hiding – if you're responsible – I will make you pay._ He paused. _...Right after you've made Dick okay again. __Then__ I'll make you pay._

His daydream was short-lived. They'd barely gone three blocks before a tell-tale _click_ sounded behind them. "Replacements one and two," a sneer sounded. "I had no idea you both had death wishes."

"We don't," Red Robin answered. His voice was calm, but Damian knew he was scared beneath his cool facade. He was well aware of the history between the two older males, and while he had no intention of seeing it repeat itself tonight he couldn't say he blamed Drake for being nervous. "We're here about Nightwing."

"Where's Batman?"

"At home." He paused. "...With Nightwing."

The barrel of Red Hood's pistol twitched upwards slightly as if that news had given him a tiny start. "...At home?" he repeated.

"Yes. But he's..." Tim turned his head left and right, clearly searching the surrounding rooftops for covert listeners. "...Can you put the gun away so we can talk without shouting at each other, maybe?"

"I like shouting at you."

"Okay, but why mix Nightwing up in it? None of this is his fault, is it? Why make him pay for our battle, Hood?"

Jason didn't move, but Damian thought he sensed a slight shift in his attitude.

"Look, can you and I just...set things aside for a minute?" Tim went on. "Just long enough for me to tell you what's going on?"

Red Hood had straightened, holstered his gun, and pulled out his grapple in the space of a blink. "When Batman comes to tell me what's going on, then maybe I'll consider listening. _Maybe_." With that he turned to go.

"He doesn't know we're here," Tim called out quickly. "...We came without telling him."

A derisive chuckle came from behind the hood as Jason swiveled back to face them. Stalking up, he stopped less than three feet away. "You came into my territory by yourselves without telling Batman in order to give me news that he clearly doesn't want me to have?" he laughed. "Why would you do something so utterly stupid?"

"Because we think you might be the only one who can help him," Red Robin said steadily.

"I have no interest in helping Batman." In a flash the gun was back in his hand, but it was the butt of the weapon, not the barrel, that he tapped Tim's forehead with teasingly. "I heard that you're supposed to be the smart one. Where's your brain tonight, replacement?"

"I meant," Tim ground out, clearly aggravated, "you're the only one who can help _Nightwing_."

A beat passed. "…He's only marginally better than Batman. Why would I help one any more willingly than the other?"

"Because you already have, Hood. We only found Nightwing because of you and Nate Westing."

"Shut up," Jason growled, tensing. "Don't say shit like that. I had _nothing_ to do with you finding Nightwing. I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

Damian looked at Tim, whose gaze never left Red Hood. "…Okay," he said slowly. "If that's how you want it. But you can help now."

"I'm _not_ helping you!"

"Not me, _Nightwing_!" Red Robin snapped. "You know, your _brother_! The one who insists on loving you no matter what you do to him or anyone else! _He_ needs help, not us. We weren't locked in a silent room for four days, Jason," he added, his voice dropping into a whisper. "We weren't, but he was. We can't seem to drag him back into reality after whatever happened in that place, but _you_…I think you can."

Jason had gone impossibly still. "…A silent room?" he said. "That's where they took him? Why?"

"We don't know yet."

"If the Joker's still in Arkham, then what would the point have been?"

"I don't _know,_ all right? All I know is that you're the only person who can help him."

"…Bullshit," Red Hood shook his head and turned away.

"It's _not_ bullshit!" Damian burst out. He'd done his best to hold his tongue and restrain his fists while the other two had been arguing, but he couldn't keep quiet when it seemed that their last hope was slipping through their fingers. Grabbing the departing man's elbow and drawing on the strength of every muscle in his body, he pulled him almost violently back around.

"Robin!" he heard Tim gasp behind him.

A midnight-black circle of death settled inches from his face, but he didn't so much as flinch. For a moment no one moved. "…It's not bullshit," he repeated himself when the gun pointing between his eyes didn't go off. "Don't take us for idiots, Hood. If it weren't the truth, we wouldn't have risked our lives to come here."

"…Heh. You're brave, kid," Jason remarked amusedly. "Too brave for your own good."

"Sound familiar, does it?" he dared.

"Oh, _christ_, Robin, really?!" Tim groaned.

But Red Hood just cocked his head to one side. "…Maybe. Maybe not. But if it's not bullshit, then tell me this; why would _I_ be of any help whatsoever to Nightwing in the condition you say he's in right now?"

"You heard him," Damian gestured over his shoulder at Red Robin. "…Nightwing was in a dark, silent room for four days. An anechoic chamber, to be exact. No light; no sound. Alone. A place like that…" What he was about to say was risky as hell, and he knew it, but he'd gotten away with everything up to this point, and he couldn't let Jason just walk away without understanding. "…Well, how much different could it be from the inside of a grave?"

If Red Hood had been wearing a normal mask instead of a full face covering, he would have seen what was coming from a mile off. As things were, though, he barely had time to prevent the man's blow from breaking his already bruised nose. The punch caught him on the cheek instead, throwing him down onto the roof.

Rage flooded him. _You asshole. How dare you refuse to help him. How __dare__ you!_ There was only one reason he could see that anyone would ever decline to help Nightwing, and that was if they were an enemy. _An enemy of Nightwing's is an enemy of mine,_ he declared, leaping back onto his feet. _Bring it on._

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Tim shouted, grabbing him around the waist and holding him back. "Chill, Robin!"

"How _dare_ you!" Robin accused Red Hood, who stood with his gun still out and his fist clenched. "Let go of me!" he threw at Red Robin, struggling to break free.

"Get that little bastard out of my territory," Jason ordered, his voice so deep with anger that he could almost have been mistaken for Batman. "And if either of you ever come back, I won't bother with pleasantries. I'll just shoot, and to hell with the consequences."

"Come back here!" Robin shrieked as he took off into the night. "Come back and _help_ _him_, you stupid, worthless traitor…" Trailing off, he sagged in Tim's grasp. As soon as the arms around him loosened, he turned and launched a hard hit at the other vigilante's shoulder. "Why did you stop me?! Don't you see now? He's part of it! If he won't help, he _has_ to be! We could have taken him!"

"Robin, _stop it_," Tim ordered. Grabbing his wrist, he tried to pin him, but the teen broke free and stepped away. They squared off for a moment, glaring at one another; then both slumped. "…I don't want to fight you, okay?"

"I…I don't want to fight you either," Damian admitted. "At least not here and now. But what are we going to do?!"

"We're…we're going to leave," Red Robin sighed. "He meant what he said, I think. If we stay here, or come back…look, Batman doesn't need the mess that would make on top of everything. So we'll just…we'll just go. It's over. We did what we could, but…it's over."

"What about Nightwing?" he all but sobbed.

"I…I don't know, Robin. I just don't know. We'll just…have to come up with something else. Okay?"

"No. It's not." But there was nothing else they could do in Hood's territory tonight unless they wanted to die. Turning to face the rest of the city, he bit his lip. "I hate this," he choked out. "I hate _him_. Hood. I _hate_ him. How _could_ he? How could he say no like that, and to _Nightwing_?!"

Tim's arm fell across his shoulder. He didn't shake it off. "…I don't know that either," he breathed. "I just don't know…"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Please don't hate me, but I'm going on vacation for the next week and as such probably won't be posting anything new on this story until I get back. However, I will give you these teasers for what's coming next: the next several chapters will be from Jason's point of view; he's not quite as opposed to helping Nightwing as he made himself out to be to Tim and Damian; and we'll learn a little more about the lady named Nona. I hope that's enough to entice you all to come back on the 21st and keep reading!<strong>

**Also, if you haven't checked out the fluffy short I posted yesterday, 'Blame Game,' I invite you to do so. Happy reading!**


	19. Chapter 19

_How dare they,_ Jason raged as he swung above his dingy streets. _How fucking __dare__ they..._

Thirty minutes had elapsed since the boy's ludicrous suggestion had been made, and the pair of interlopers were long gone, but he remained agitated. If he could have felt the cool night air against his face, he reflected, then maybe he could have settled down. But that was out of the question; he had chosen a costume with a full hood specifically to keep the breeze from working its soothing magic on him the way it had when he'd been Robin. He wanted to keep the anger flowing, needed to keep it built up inside him every night until dawn. If for once he wished he could just let it go, then that was too bad. A lone wolf couldn't ignore insults from his rivals, even if they were lesser competitors; he would have to let himself be hateful.

It was much harder than usual, though, he thought around the time that midnight rang out over the city. His way of loathing was to pick apart his enemies' inaccuracies and logical failings, simultaneously unraveling their strategy and placing himself above them in his own esteem. Despite his best efforts tonight, however, he couldn't manage it. The replacements hadn't been stupid for coming to him, not at all – in fact, the opposite was true. If anywhere was like an anechoic chamber, Damian's point rolled through his head once more, it was the grave. That being the case, who better to commiserate with Nightwing than him?

"Ugh," he spat, turning on himself in disgust. Landing hard on a patch of tar-covered roof, he stomped across it to the radio tower jutting skyward from its center. In seconds he had scaled it, and sat overlooking his small kingdom. Trying not to think about anything at all, he glared at the urban maze below. It was useless; Dick's face, plastered with the failproof smile he wore like a badge of honor, kept floating into view. How many times, he mused, had that expression been turned on him? A hundred? A thousand? A hundred thousand? He'd lost count, and for some reason that felt like a betrayal. _Goddamn it, Dick,_ he cursed. _How do you get yourself into this shit, anyway?_

He shifted positions impatiently and worked to clear his head once more. Instead of the blankness he desired, the brash actions of the younger Robins returned to the front of his mind. He waited for his ire to flare anew, but nothing happened. The reasoning behind their visit had been sound, and he hadn't discerned any guile in their approach. They'd come to him with the purest intentions possible, and as a result he had no fuel to fire his upset at them for coming at all.

It didn't matter, though. Not even the most altruistic motive and watertight logic could dismiss the simple fact that he could not help them. Even if he'd been _willing_ to do what they wanted – something to which he wasn't ready to admit yet – he lacked the ability. Those hours of dark, silent panic were lost to him, forgotten, locked away, and who could blame him for that?

His fists curled, not from anger but because his fingertips suddenly felt as if they'd been scraped raw. The city atmosphere in his lungs thickened without warning, turning flat and oxygen-deprived. Desperation tinged his next gasp. The lights all around him were hallucinations, surely, because it was dark, too dark, impossibly dark in the box...

_No,_ he breathed, jerking himself out of the past. _No. I don't remember. I can't help. I'm...I'm sorry, Dick, but I can't remember... _The other two didn't understand what it was to relive that time, the terror and confusion and loneliness. While he supposed that that wasn't their fault, the horror of the thing shouldn't have been so difficult for them to imagine. They were asking too much of him, and they should have realized it. _I __can't__ remember...I don't dare, Dick...you know why now, I think...forgive me... _His face was wet under its shield. _Forgive me, but I can't save you from this any more than_ – his breath hitched – _any more than you could have saved me._

A scream cut through his pain. For an instant he feared that the cry had come from his own throat. But that wasn't possible; his teeth were clenched to the point of breaking, and he'd been more or less in control of himself besides. His ears, relieved to be freed from the pressing silence of memory, informed him that the sound had come from below and to the left. Shaking himself out of his half-stupor, he squeezed his eyes shut. _Pull it together, Hood. Some low-life wants your attention. Give it to him. _It would be better than focusing on his own problems, at least.

He climbed down from his post and made his way to the edge of the roof. A hiss formed on his lips as he discovered that a crime had been taking place right under his nose. A figure lay sprawled on the concrete in a steadily-growing pool of blood, their groans growing weaker with each passing moment. A second form bolted around a distant corner and into the shadows, something flashing in their hand as they vanished. _Knife_, Jason deduced as he leaped down to the street and prepared to give chase. _Great. A crazy_._ Exactly what I wanted right now..._

"Mr...Mr. Red Ho-"

He halted as the voice speaking his name trailed off into an agonized whimper. For the second time in as many minutes, he shut his eyes. _Nate Westing,_ he identified the person dying behind him. _Shit, man, you didn't deserve this._

He should have gone after the fleeing murderer, but he turned back instead. "...It was Ivory Jack, wasn't it?" he asked, stopping short of the mess still spreading across the ground.

"N-no, sir. Don't...don't reckon it was." Westing coughed. "Never known him to...to hire women. Not 'less they were-"

"Prostitutes," Red Hood finished for him. "...Right." Now he crouched down, staying clear of the blood creeping closer but getting near enough that he could hear the downed man speak. "Did you know her?"

"N-no. Didn't."

"...Okay."

"I'm gonna die, ain't I?"

There was already too much liquid mixed in with the standard gutter slurry, and Jason was no doctor. "...Yeah," he told him the truth. "You're pretty much screwed."

"Thought so. Baby girl..." Westing's face contorted. "Aw, baby girl...daddy's sorry, baby...ain't your fault..."

No, Jason swallowed, it wasn't the child's fault; it was his. Hadn't he hunted down her father, beaten him, and forced him to talk? Even though the man claimed to have been stabbed by someone other than one of Ivory Jack's usual hires, there was no question in Jason's mind that this was all tied to the interrogation of two nights before. Westing didn't seem like the sort who had enemies normally, and the odds of him being randomly murdered less than twenty-four hours after Nightwing's rescue were astronomical. He had condemned an innocent man, it seemed, and in the process had orphaned a little girl. _This was for you, Dick,_ he growled. _I did this for you. Isn't it enough?_

"Mr. Hood?"

Westing's voice was paling by the second. "Yeah?" Jason asked quickly.

"'M I dying cause you all found him? Night...nightwing?"

He knew he should make sure they were still alone before he answered, but it felt wrong to look away from the bulging, fearful gaze that was trained on him. "...Yeah. I, uh...I think you probably are." He paused. "He wouldn't want you to," he burst out. "If he knew, he'd...he'd be sorry. Very sorry." _You have no idea how sorry he'd be…_

Westing blinked several times in rapid succession. When he spoke again, he did so with visible difficulty. "You'll tell him," he said. "You'll tell him? I ain't mad. I ain't, so long...so long as you all keep doing. Keep...doing what...what you do. Good, and...things. Only..." He half-choked. "...My baby...?"

"She'll be fine," Jason assured, his stomach roiling with guilt. "The little ones get picked up a lot, I hear. Adopted. Maybe someone will even take her out of this hellhole," he jerked his head, abusing his own zone of control, "and into something better."

"Something better..." Westing smiled. "My sweet baby girl..." His mouth hardened again. "You tell him," he struggled. "You tell him that my...my baby girl needs him to do good things. You tell him that. You tell him that's…that's my price."

"...I will." He wouldn't, but he lied to spare the man's last feelings. In the event that he ever spoke to his brother about the occurrences of the last few days, he would be certain to stay far, far away from the topic of Nate Westing. He could imagine how Dick would take the news that a civilian with a young child had died as a side effect of his rescue, and the image made him shudder. It was much better that he never knew.

The end was very near now, and Westing appeared to realize as much. "Don't wanna go," he pleaded, struggling as best he could. "Baby girl...don't...please..."

Jason stretched out one arm and let his hand fall onto a quaking shoulder. How he had longed for a friendly touch when _he _had been the one who was_-_! _No,_ he snarled at himself. _No. This isn't about you. He just...he just doesn't deserve to die alone. It's not right._ "...Relax, Nate," he said quietly. "In a minute it won't...it won't hurt anymore. Okay?"

"Baby girl..."

"Relax."

"Baby girl..."

The last syllable faded out, and Nate Westing was no more.

Several seconds later, Red Hood pulled away and rose slowly to his feet. Staring down at what was left of the hapless human being on the pavement, he felt a surge of aggression pour over him. _They come into my territory,_ he bared his teeth, _they come into __my__ territory, and they kidnap, and they kill. How dare they? How __dare__ they?!_

It wouldn't happen again. He would make sure of it, and tonight. The rage had built up under the hood once more, and he finally had a clear course of action; find the woman assassin, get answers, clear his streets of infiltrators. There was no confusion like there had been after the evening's first invasion, and he relished the vengeful sensation pumping through his veins. The innocent didn't die alone in his range, nor did their deaths go unavenged; it was just how he operated. Nate Westing's blood would be repaid in kind.

_I can't help you, Dick,_ he thought as he rose into the sky, _not the way that they think I can, at least, __but…I can make sure that the people who hurt you can never do it again. I know it's not what you would normally want, but trust me, _his vision blurred under a fresh threat of angry tears, _it's much better than if no one does anything for you at all. _


	20. Chapter 20

Ivory Jack let out a yelp as Red Hood slammed him against a wall and held him there. "What the hell, man?!" he whined. "Don't you people ever let up on a guy?"

'You people'...while it came as no surprise to Jason that Batman had already interrogated the procurer, he resented being tied to his former mentor. He made as much clear by pulling his prisoner away from the bricks and then shoving him into them again. "I'm not with them," he growled. "And if you want to stop receiving visits from them _and_ me so bad, then maybe you should be in another line of work."

"Heh. Like I could find another job I like as much as this one." Ivory Jack paused, and then seemed to deflate a little. "Still...maybe you've got a point. At least if I was doing something a little bit more legit I wouldn't be messed up in all of this bullshit that's going on..."

"I don't care about your problems," Red Hood informed him bluntly. Turning his captive around, he released him. Jack wasn't stupid enough to try and run, he knew, and it was easier to watch the surrounding rooftops if he wasn't pinning someone down at the same time.

"I guess you're here about Nightwing too, huh?"

"No," he denied uneasily. "...But tell me what you told them when they came."

"Oh, man..." Ivory Jack glanced around, his expression fearful. "Look, I didn't ask to get in the middle of this-"

"I said I don't fucking care!" Jason snapped. A little voice in the back of his head kept reminding him that actually, he _had_ come about Nightwing, just as Batman had. Their interests were aligned once more, his inner monologue sing-songed, and now it seemed that even their methods were the same. That idea was annoying for many reasons, the most important of which was that he thought it might not be entirely wrong. "Just tell me what you told them!"

"All right, all right! Cool your jets, man...jeez, when was the last time you were laid? You're acting like you could use a girl hard right now. You know," Jack's tone became suggestive, "I could get you a couple, if-" He cut off as his cheek scraped against the wall once more. "Gah! I get it, I get it! No girls, just info! Okay, okay! Let me up, huh?"

Red Hood let a beat pass before he unhanded him for a second time. "Talk," he ordered. "Now."

Ivory Jack talked. Jason listened with his arms crossed, pieces of the puzzle falling into place in his head. He had to bite back a bitter grin when he was told that the Joker had been the top mastermind of the plan to kidnap Nightwing. While it was nice to have his suspicion vindicated, the reminder of the clown's obsession with Robins made his stomach turn. When a new name was mentioned a moment later, his mouth dropped into a deep frown. "...Who the hell is Nona?"

"I don't know, okay? It's like I told Batman; there are rumors, and that's it."

"_What_ rumors?" Prison and admiration for a madman were presented, followed by a suggestion that the Joker wasn't living up to his reputation in the criminal underworlds of abroad. When Jack finally went silent, Jason wasn't entirely sure what to think. Westing had said that his killer was a woman, and Nona was the only female he'd yet heard mentioned in relation to Nightwing's disappearance and the events that had followed. At the same time, though, she sounded like she was too high up the food chain to be performing her own hits. He shook his head. "Fine," he said roughly. "Then tell me this; who killed Nate Westing tonight?"

Ivory Jack's face pinched in concentration. "...Who the hell is Nate Westing? _Ow_!"

Red Hood didn't let up as his informant squirmed against red brick once more. He supposed he ought to be glad that Jack couldn't remember the man he'd hired a few nights earlier, since that was a good indicator that his assessment of Westing as a generally innocent man had been correct, but all he felt was ire. "You'd better remember him," he threatened, "and quickly."

"Fuck...uh...Westing? Westing...um...wait, was he that nervous guy? Yeah...yeah! Helped us with the loading! I'd never used him before, but he did okay. Yeah. Westing. I remember. So...he's dead, huh?"

"Yes. Who did it?"

"The hell if I know!" Jack wriggled harder than before. "Maybe he was into something else," he suggested hopefully. "I didn't have anything to do with it. I mean...do you know why he was killed?"

"Yeah," Jason smirked. "Someone killed him for talking to Batman." As he'd expected would happen, the figure under his hands went still. "Doesn't make things sound so good for you, huh?"

"Oh, god...oh no...oh, god...let me go...let me go, I've gotta...gotta get out...gotta get out of Gotham..."

"You'd leave everything you built here just because Nate Westing was killed for snitching?"

"I can rebuild somewhere else, man, but not if I'm dead! I snitched too! Twice, now! I gotta get out of here. I'm a dead man..."

Red Hood backed up a single pace. "...You're smarter than you look, Jack. I didn't say you could leave!" he barked a second later when the fellow made to bolt. "I'm not done with you yet. Where's this Nona person based?"

"I don't know!" he squeaked in panic.

"Who does she run with? Does she have a set crew here, or did she bring people with her from Europe?"

"I don't _know_!" Tears were pouring down the procurer's face. His eyes darted everywhere, searching for assassins. "I don't know anything, okay?! Just let me go, man, let me go before she finds me!"

It was clear to Jason that he'd gotten everything he could out of Ivory Jack. He hadn't expected much to begin with, and had only come after him because Westing's murderer had vanished without a trace. He hadn't gained much useful insight during the interview, but if nothing else he now had a name to work with – Nona. More information would have been nice, but even if Jack had had it the man was now too much of a blubbering mess to give it up. "...Get out of here," Jason directed. "I'm done with you."

The last part of Ivory Jack to disappear into the night was his shock of almost-white hair. When even that had gone, Red Hood rose to the rooftops and stared out over the city. Nona, Nona...where amongst the millions was she, this strangely powerful new arrival whose moniker he'd never heard until tonight? If she really had just come from Europe, how had she climbed so high in the Joker's power structure so quickly? The kidnapping and taking to torture of one of Batman's birds wasn't a task that the psychopath would give to an unproven underling. Whoever this Nona was, she had done something to impress her boss, and anything that impressed the Joker sent a shiver through Jason. He had to know more about her, _now_.

The best place to start, he decided, was back in his own territory. He was certain that Nona wasn't hiding out there – he prided himself on knowing what went on within his borders, and while she might slip in and out on jobs there was no way she had taken up residence – but maybe one of his usual informants would recognize her name. He'd take anything he could get at this point; he couldn't let the case go cold. As soon as it did, he knew he'd slip back into thinking about Dick, and that would lead to...no. No, he didn't, couldn't, _wouldn't_ remember his own personal silent room, and thinking about Dick...well, he just wouldn't do that. _Stick to the job, genius,_ he chastised himself. _Don't think, just do. All of that's...it's all in the past. It's done. Leave it be._

He was so lost in his effort to get back to his own territory without slipping into dark recollection that he almost didn't see the familiar figure walking through an alley below him. A block later he realized what he'd spotted and turned back so abruptly in mid-air that his shoulder protested. For all that he had caught only a glimpse of her fleeing form, he was certain that this was the woman who had stabbed Nate Westing. There was something about her posture, her attitude, that fit the impression he'd gotten from his brief glance. _You,_ he snarled mentally as his feet touched the ground. _You bitch. I'll kill you._ _But first, you're going to tell me all about your boss..._

She simply smiled when he stopped directly in front of her and pulled out a gun. "I heard you were a...what's the word? A hothead," she chuckled in a vaguely Eastern European accent. "He really _does_ know you all so well."

"Who are you?" he ground out. "And why did you kill that man?" She peered at him questioningly and said nothing. "Answer me!"

"I will," she assured. "But first...which man do you speak of?"

He started. "Which...?" How many men had she killed tonight, to ask such a question as that? "What do you mean, 'which'?!"

"I mean that I have taken three lives this evening, and that one of them was for a different reason than the others. In order to answer you accurately, I need to know which of them you are upset about."

_...Three?!_ His finger tightened on the trigger, then paused as she spoke again.

"If you shoot me now, Red Hood, you will never have your answers. Besides, I am not your enemy; I am your friend. We share an adversary, although it was his work I was engaged in tonight."

He could practically hear the charge in the chambered bullet begging him to apply the last ounce of pressure and let it explode. Here was Westing's killer, whom he had sworn to destroy in recompense for turning the man into a snitch, and yet he held back for two reasons. First, she had a point; he'd get very few answers from a dead woman. Second, he was still on Batman's side of the line, and while he told himself that he didn't care what the man's rules were he still didn't like to kill in his domain. "Who. Are. You," he spat, livid.

"You don't know yet?" She tilted her head to one side. "I am surprised. But then you are not the one he says is the best at solving puzzles..."

Jason was seeing red. "Why did you kill three people tonight? This is the last time I'll ask," he warned.

"So impatient...very well. I killed two of them for being snitches, even though I believe that only one of them actually talked. But they died on the orders of another, someone with whom you are well acquainted, I think, so I could not spare the innocent one. The third..." Her smile widened. "The third died because he let me see him hitting a woman. I have no tolerance for that sort of behavior, so now he is dead. He was quite handsome," she mused aloud. "It was a pity that his character was proportionately ugly."

Everything clicked into place at once. This woman had, by her own admission, taken the lives of Nate Westing and another man – the other carrier hired by Ivory Jack, he would wager – on the command of someone he was 'well acquainted' with. She spoke as if she was an immigrant, albeit one well-educated in the English language. Most importantly, she seemed to have no compunctions about killing for transgressions that even Jason thought could be better handled through a less permanent method. This was the sort of woman that a person like Ivory Jack would run from at the first opportunity. This was the sort of woman that might look at the Joker, lounging in Arkham and promoting entropy long-distance rather than personally applying his considerable power in the pursuit of control, and think he was conquerable.

This, in short, was exactly the sort of woman that he expected Nona to be. "...Oh, _shit_..."

"Now you've got it, I think," she nodded, looking pleased. "Very good. Very, very good..."


	21. Chapter 21

"...I do not expect you to trust me immediately, Red Hood," Nona said when a long, silent moment had passed.

"That's good," he replied sharply. "I don't trust anyone, let alone people who seem to be playing both sides of things."

"You don't trust _anyone_?" she repeated, lifting one eyebrow. "Strange. You seem very interested in what happened to Nightwing for someone who trusts no one."

His mouth tightened beneath his hood. Where was she getting all of her information? Some of it had clearly come from the Joker, whom Jason had to admit was disturbingly knowledgeable about everything related to Batman. The rest, though...the Joker couldn't possibly know that he'd been tracking down Nate Westing's killer for the last two hours, and even if he did there hadn't been time for him to get that bit of news to his newest lieutenant. No, Nona had to have her own network of spies, and good ones at that. But _how_...?

The woman stretched languidly, then leaned against a graffiti-stricken wall. "These last few weeks have been quite a learning experience for me, you know," she offered. "There is so much to absorb in a city like this, and the Joker has an...interesting...set-up besides. His little balance of power act with Batman and the rest of you...it's fascinating. Yet there's something I don't understand." Pushing away from the wall, she began to pace. Jason followed her with his gun, still half-expecting an attack. "...Why doesn't he just take over? He could, you know. He has quite the following. If he wanted to, _really_ wanted to, I don't think even your Batman could stop him."

"First of all, he's not 'my' Batman," Red Hood grumbled. "Second..." He hesitated, unsure as to whether or not he should give Nona the information sitting on the end of his tongue.

"Answer my question, and I'll answer one of yours," she tempted.

"...Second," he started again, "the Joker's insane, but not stupid. When he comes out of Arkham, he wants to..." What was the phrase Dick had used all those years ago, when they'd both been teenagers and things had still been okay? "He wants to indulge his psychopathic revenge fantasies," he finished, finding the old descriptor buried in the back of his mind. "He can't do that if he takes Gotham over completely; he'd be attacking himself, and-" He gulped. "-And that's no fun."

"Hmm..." Nona paced, back and forth, back and forth, keeping her head down as she processed what had been said. "The same with Batman, then," she broached finally. "If he kills him, the fun's over."

It hadn't been a question, but Jason answered anyway. "...I guess so."

"Odd that he didn't extend that logic to _you_."

He bristled automatically. "What's your point?"

"Well, it's funny, isn't it?" She stopped walking and turned to face him. "He killed you. He would have killed the one known as Red Robin, by his own confession. And yet he seems to want to keep the other two alive. Why?" When he didn't reply, she went on. "It seems that he thinks Batman values them more than he values the pair of you, and therefore won't be driven beyond his usual boundaries by your deaths. But _why_?"

It was a question that Jason had asked himself on many sleepless occasions, although he always stood alone on the 'less valued' side in his own calculations. The answer he circled back to time and again was one of familiarity. Dick had come into the picture very young, and had become, for all intents and purposes, Bruce's true son. Damian, of course, was the billionaire's biological child, and shared Dick's benefit of having arrived at the house as a child. Tim, he grimaced, was in a situation closer to his own, having only taken up the Robin mantle as a teenager. But Tim had come from money, and he more than any of the others shared Bruce's detective bent; he had endeared himself in ways that Jason could not. The fact that the Joker had tried to kill Tim marked an error in the psychopath's judgment, an error that was attested to by the fact that an intervention had been made in time to save him. _But no one came for me,_ he whispered to himself for the millionth time. _No one came for the outsider. No one avenged the fifth wheel._

It was all much too intimate of knowledge for him to even consider disclosing to Nona, so he kept his mouth shut. After a minute she must have gathered that she wouldn't be getting a response, because she went on without prompting. "All right," she shrugged. "I don't need to know that right now. But I suppose that you want to know why I'm here at all?"

Shaking himself out of his reverie – hadn't they been great, those old weekends when Dick had a weekend off and would come home from Bludhaven so that the three of them could patrol together? – Jason gave a grunt of agreement. Nona's intentions in Gotham were more important than any other question he could ask save one, and he didn't dare give voice to that other query. She already knew he was interested in what had happened to Nightwing, although _how_ she knew was beyond him; the last thing he wanted to do was hand her his emotions on a silver platter by actually inquiring about his brother.

"It's as the rumors say. I was in prison abroad, and I seized the opportunity to escape in the middle of all the shuffling of prisoners they've been doing since last year's earthquakes. I'm not the only one, you know; something like seven percent of all the convicts who had to be moved due to structural damage or nuclear dangers after the quakes have absconded. When I think about it, what you said about the Joker not wanting to have to rebuild his own playground makes sense. I tried to go back to the city I had been powerful in before – it doesn't matter which one it was, since it's little more than a pile of rubble now – but there was no point. I needed someplace intact, someplace promising. Something bigger."

She smiled and turned her head upward as if she might see Gotham's imposing skyline from the dark little side street in which they stood. "So I came here, to this legendary city. I had admired the Joker's ruthlessness from afar, although I was always a bit confused by his tactics. As you said, he is insane, and I simply had not realized how much so. But I do now, and I will tell you a secret, Red Hood; he is insane, but he is also vulnerable. He is vulnerable, and he will fall."

He blinked at her. "A minute ago you said he could take over this entire city if he just put his mind to it," he accused. "Which is it? Is he powerful, or vulnerable?"

"Both. He _could_ have Gotham on its knees, I believe, but he won't do it. There are many in his employ who wish he would, though, who chafe at the fact that he does not. But they are not powerful enough to unalign themselves from him unless they can run to the protection of another ruling presence."

"...You?" Jason ventured doubtfully.

"Yes. Me." She closed the gap between them without warning. As she drew up he could see that her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her eyes sparkling with the audacity of her plan. "I helped Batman to find Nightwing," she breathed. "The Joker has no idea that his file was leaked by a nurse in my employ. I had to kidnap Nightwing as I was ordered to do, but it was I who set him free, too."

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, working to keep uncertainty out of his voice.

"Because I want you to believe that the Joker can be toppled. It's what you want, isn't it? To take the revenge that wasn't taken for you?"

He had stepped backwards in shock before he realized he was moving. "...What?"

"How much happier would you be if the Joker was dead, Red Hood?" she pressed. "How would it feel to put a bullet in his brain?"

She was spinning a fantasy, but he wanted to believe in it. Even as every sinew in his body cried out for vengeance, though, a tiny, doubting voice sounded above the din. To kill the Joker would be a dream come true, but what would Nona make of the power vacuum that would follow? There was something about her that struck Jason as being more dangerous than any characteristic possessed by the mad clown, and it was that single thread of caution that kept him from plunging headlong into whatever it was that she had planned. "...Why did you help Batman?" he frowned. "Why did you free Nightwing when he'd been put where he was on the Joker's orders?"

"It looks like foolishness on my part, doesn't it? But it isn't," she insisted. "It wasn't. Don't you see? They were doing something to the Joker that had never been done before. They locked him in a silent room three times a week, for an hour at a time. No sound, no light. The man in charge wanted to see what it would do to him, if it would make him crazier or not. But it didn't. It didn't at all. It did the opposite." She beamed. "It scared him, Red Hood. It started to make him sane. He felt it happening, he told me. He didn't care so much about coming up with schemes and ways to torture your Batman-"

"Stop calling him that!"

"-anymore, all he cared about was not going back into that room," she went on without pause. "He couldn't stand it, but the doctor didn't want to stop. He threatened to kill the doctor, and the doctor told him that if he died for any reason all of his notes would be made public. That would have done the Joker no good; if they knew that something was working, the entire city would scream for him to be left in silence until he came out as a mere shadow of himself. So he worked out a trade; a round-the-clock sane person in place of a thrice-a-week insane one. The doctor was delighted, apparently, and that is where Nightwing and I came in.

"But I _want_ the Joker to be scared," she hissed. "I _want_ him to be half-sane and unable to scheme. Nightwing has been rescued, and the blame placed on the lackeys hired by Ivory Jack; now the doctor will insist on continuing with the Joker, yes? And in a few more weeks – a month or two at the most – he will be so changed by that place that he will crumble under the pressure of the force I am building right beneath his nose." She broke off, her smile suddenly weary. "And then he can be yours, Red Hood. I will give him to you, freely and without strings. You may do as you please with him, and with your territory, as well. I won't interfere; the rest of Gotham is plenty for my tastes. You don't have to answer tonight, but...think about it, hmm?" Her voice dropped. "Isn't it everything you've ever wanted?"

She turned as if to go. "Wait!" Jason called after her. "...Wait." There was an element that she seemed to be leaving out of her plan, and no matter how hard he tried not to care he couldn't bring himself to ignore the implications of the omission. "You realize that Batman isn't going to just stand by and let you take over, right?"

Her face was silhouetted as she looked over her shoulder at him. "If I can defeat the Joker, why would I not be able to overcome the man he has been in a willing stalemate with for twenty years?"

"But..." It dawned on him that the sort of person who would murder Nate Westing and another innocent man just to keep their cover intact for a few more weeks wouldn't hesitate to kill someone who was directly opposing them. If it came down to it, he swallowed, who would the henchmen of Gotham fear more; Batman, who they knew would never take their lives, or Nona, who it seemed would end anyone she needed to without a second thought? If she toppled the Joker and ordered her forces to kill all who attempted to interfere, how many guns would be looking for shadows ghosting across rooftops? His stomach flipped; no one could dodge that many bullets, not for long. Not even Batman.

"But where does that leave you?" Nona filled in his silence. "...I like you, Red Hood. You're your own man, and you have made your own path. As I have done," she said proudly. "But it seems that you have been sitting on the fence for a long time now, yes? That is what I hear, at least. That is why I spoke to you as I did tonight; I want you to realize that it is time to choose. You say he is not 'your Batman'; if you mean that, then this is your chance to prove it."

With that, she walked away. He could have chased after her, ought to have demanded further answers, more details, _something._ But he'd heard enough already to leave him in the middle of a tempest of emotions; anything else she might give him would be lost in the wind. It occurred to him that he should shoot her, if not for Nate Westing then because a dead woman couldn't launch a successful coup. His gun hand rose halfway, then fell back. What was he thinking, trying to help the Joker? Besides, somehow he didn't think she'd be that easy to kill, for all that she didn't seem to be any less human than he was. A large part of him still wanted to seize what she had offered, too, and he would no longer have that option if he attacked her.

_The Joker. Batman. Nightwing..._ He tried to weigh a dozen factors against one another at the same time, but it was so confusing... _The Joker. Batman. Nightwing. __Nightwing__..._ Tim's voice, hated but vexingly right, broke in. '_We think you might be the only one who can help him...'_ He closed his eyes, but the younger man kept going. '_You know, your brother! The one who insists on loving you no matter what you do to him or anyone else!'_

His choices stood before him in stark, sudden contrast. He could offer his complicity to Nona, or he could take the information he'd been given tonight to Batman. He could have the revenge he'd wanted for years, or he could – maybe, just maybe – have the family he'd wanted for as long as he could remember. He ached to have both somehow, but each one made the other impossible. It was a decision he could not make without betraying some part of himself, and yet it appeared that he had no choice.

"Goddamn it," he moaned brokenly as Nona vanished around a distant corner. "Goddamn it all to hell..."


	22. Chapter 22

Red Hood stalked through his neighborhoods for hours, wrestling with himself and wishing that he could change the past. When the east began to brighten he swung home, changed into his civilian self, and went back out to continue his pacing in the grainy light of the inner-city morning. Breakfast smells – grits, eggs, a little bacon or sausage where someone could afford to treat themselves – soon wafted over the cracked sidewalks that joined each tenement to its neighbors. Children laughed over their plates despite the bad statistics they had been born into, then carried their joy outside into the beginnings of another record-breakingly hot day.

He walked past them all, lost in his own miseries. It wasn't until those adults who were fortunate enough to have jobs in the better parts of town began to trickle towards the bus stops that he realized he had been unconsciously tearing his eyes away every time he spotted boys playing together in an empty lot. Anger flooded him. When had he become weak? When had he softened into a pile of sentimental mush? There was no use in feeling sorry for what might happen if Nona took over, he told himself; it was what it was. He would protect his little corner of the city as he had for years now, and that was all he had any reason to worry about.

"Dino, stop!" a youthful protest sounded. The tinkle of shattering glass followed, drawing his attention. Turning his head, Jason found two boys facing off across an abused wagon. The elder of the pair couldn't have been more than seven or eight, the younger a mere five or six. The little one wore a petulant look as he stood amongst the shards of the bottle he'd just broken on the concrete. "...Dino, that was five cents you just threw away!" his companion complained.

"I don't care! This is _dumb_!" A pink lip thrust out in a pout. "I wanna watch cartoons!"

There was no question that they were brothers, and yet for some reason Jason couldn't look away from them as he had automatically done with the others. Instead he listened as the older boy sighed and explained the situation for what was probably the thousandth time. "I want to, too," he commiserated with patience beyond his years, "but mom had to turn off the cable, remember? Cause we couldn't afford it? That's why we've been collecting every day, is so we can give her money to help turn it back on. Remember what she said, Dino? The more bottles we collect, the sooner we can have cartoons again. Remember?"

"That's _dumb_!" the little one shouted. Even from a distance Jason could see the tears standing in his narrowed eyes. "I want Mickey! I _wanna watch Mickey_!"

"We're _gonna,_ Dino, but we've gotta get enough bottles first!"

"_No!_" Huffing, Dino stomped over to where a bag of garbage had been set beside a dumpster and subsequently rifled through. A few beer cans shone dully up from the mess, and it was these the youth seized upon. "I want _Mickey_!" he raged, throwing one of the crumpled containers at his sibling. "Make Mickey come on, Marco! Make Mickey come on _now_!"

The one named Marco hugged himself sadly as the can landed a few feet short and bounced into his tattered shoe. Bending down, he picked it up and deposited it carefully in the wagon with the bottles he'd already collected. The thin aluminum would get him only a fraction of the return price he'd receive for glass, but Jason supposed that when you were a kid trying to get Mickey on screen for your little brother you'd take whatever you could get.

There was a pause as the boys stared at each other. Dino was still glaring, but his posture had taken on an edge of confusion. Marco just blinked, smiled a little, and then moved to search through another small pile of rubbish. After a minute a second can skittered to a stop by his toes. Once more, he picked it up and put it in with his load. "That's it, Dino," he encouraged. "You look for cans, and I'll look for bottles. We'll get more money that way, huh?"

This affirmation seemed to throw the younger boy for a loop. He stopped digging for projectiles, and instead stood silently by and watched his companion search. His face worked as he tried to figure out how his nascent temper tantrum had been spun into something worthy of praise. "...I want Mickey, Marco," he pleaded once more, but the stubbornness had gone from his voice.

Now Marco straightened and moved towards him. "I know," he repeated, wrapping an arm around his little brother's shoulders. "We'll get Mickey, don't worry. But we've got to work together, okay?"

Dino ducked his head, then peered upwards. "...I have to get the cans?" he asked.

"Yeah. You get the cans, I'll get the bottles. And if we do good today," Marco sweetened the pot, "maybe we can take a dime and both get a piece of gum at the store."

"...We wouldn't have to split it?"

"Nope. You can have your own. But you've got to find..." Raising his free hand, he bent his fingers rapidly in calculation. "...Fifteen cans, at least. Can you do that?"

"There's one...two...three...four...five cans right here!" Dino announced, pointing at the open bag beside him. "...How many more do I need?"

"You need ten more."

Now Dino smiled. Marco returned the expression. They looked for all the world like grubby little angels, and Jason, who clearly remembered what it was like to spend countless hours scrounging for a few cents to pay the bills or taste a bit of candy, was sorely tempted to duck into the store and buy them each an entire _pack_ of gum. He knew better, of course – he wouldn't have taken food from a stranger on any night but Halloween at their age, and kids seemed to get more street savvy with every new generation – but the drive was there.

He turned towards home, leaving the children to pursue their dangerous hobby in peace. How much easier, how much more fun, would the same work have been for him if he'd had someone to share the load with? If his parents had just had a second kid, maybe...but it was foolish to think about the past like that. Besides, he'd never been sure his parents had wanted him to begin with, so why would they have tried for another brat? It was no wonder he'd been smacked on the single occasion that he had outright requested a sibling.

And yet he'd gotten one in the end, a quiet voice spoke in his head. He jerked to a halt on the edge of his own threshold. He'd gotten one in the end, his very own Marco, thanks not to his parents' efforts but to their transgressions. How many times had Dick slung an arm around his shoulders and given him a smile that seemed to make everything better? If they had been born brothers, he wondered, mightn't they very well have played out the same scene he'd just witnessed beside that rancid and overflowing dumpster?

He suddenly felt too hot, as if he had acquired a fever in the last ten seconds. Leaning his forehead against the cool, pock-marked metal of his apartment door, he stared down at his shoes. _He tied my laces for me once,_ he remembered unwillingly. Broken-armed and feeling helpless, he had sat in the foyer of the manor and struggled for nearly twenty minutes before Dick had appeared. The older man, then still technically a teenager despite his grown-up job and other responsibilities, had assessed the situation in an instant and leaped into action. No words had passed between them, but Dick's smile had matched Marco's; patient, understanding, quietly loving.

_I want Mickey, Marco. I want to go outside, Dick. _It was the same thing in the end, and Jason felt an overpowering urge to retrace his steps, kneel before Dino, and tell him to never, ever take his big brother for granted.

"Fuuuuck," he groaned, and let himself inside. The place was already too hot to be borne, but he was exhausted. Knowing that even a sheet would be intolerable to sleep under, he stripped, turned on the fan, and lay down on the tiny square of linoleum that marked his kitchen. There wasn't really enough room, but he'd done this plenty of times before, and his body folded automatically into a configuration that allowed for maximum contact between his skin and the heat-leeching floor. Almost immediately, he passed out and fell into a dream.

There was no sound save his own slow, steady breathing, and no light to let him see where he was. It was very warm – too warm – and a bead of sweat was threatening to roll into his eye. It would burn if it did, he knew that, and the last thing he wanted was more pain. No more pain, he begged, anything but that; why couldn't he just go back in time to when there had been no pain or fear...?

Was he lucid? He must have been, he decided, if he could ask a question like that. Fine, then, he was lucid dreaming. Bored with the dark and the quiet, he shook himself and tried to sit up. His forehead hit something after only a few inches, though, and he retreated. Frowning, he reached up and explored the barricade. Wood grain met his fingertips. He pressed as hard as he could, but there was no give. _What the hell...?_

His breathing had quickened, and he took a moment to slow it back down. _Okay,_ he told himself. _Okay. It's just a dream. _He had fallen asleep thinking about Dick despite his best efforts not to, and now his subconscious had gone rogue and put him in some imagined version of a silent room. Okay; he could deal with that. Lucid dreams were but one of many things he knew how to work through, and this one would be a piece of cake. There was wood in front of him? Fine, then, it was a wooden door, and it would let him out into normal, non-creepy slumber. Eager to get out, he groped for the handle that he had no doubt had sprung into existence.

He found nothing but flat wood again. Holding down his annoyance, he tried a second time. _There is a wooden door in front of me, _he thought firmly._ It will let me out of the silence and the dark. _Once more he searched, and once more the barrier was blank and unyielding. Something was wrong. He was good at lucid dreaming, _very_ good, so why wasn't this working?

The air seemed to be thickening with each breath he took. He tried to turn over, searching for any direction in which he could move, but he was so stiff that he would have sworn he'd been lying in the same position for days. Damn the Joker for giving him this dream, he thought dourly as he struggled. If it wasn't for that bastard, would he be here now? _No, _he growled to himself. _I wouldn't be._

The thought of the crazed clown blew the last of his patience. "Asshole," he snarled. Adrenaline raced through him, and he lashed out at the wood blocking his path. His knuckles connected, causing a short heavy _rap_ to reach his ears. He paused, suddenly uncertain. While he was pleased to hear something other than his own panting, the noise had been familiar in a way that made his stomach curdle. Unable to place it, he tapped again. _Rap, rap..._ It was no wonder that his door hadn't appeared; judging from the heavy nature of the sound, there was no open space on the other side of the wood. Something was blocking his way out, surrounding him, holding him hostage. But _what_?

There really did seem to be fewer good gases in the air than there had been before. He frowned. It made no sense. He was stuck in Dick's shoes, but no one had mentioned there being any oxygen deprivation involved in his brother's imprisonment. Where had _that_ come from? And why – he struck the wood again – couldn't he _move_?!

Then, suddenly, he knew. He'd been mistaken; he wasn't working through a lucid dream, he was trapped in a memory. It had been shut away so thoroughly and for so long that he hadn't recognized it, but now, with his lungs beginning to cry out and his knuckles rubbing raw against his crate, he remembered.

He wasn't in a silent room. He was back in his goddamn coffin.

He screamed, but the sound died in the humidity his breathing had built up. There were only two choices open to him, and he knew he didn't have much time to choose. If he lay still and did nothing, he would asphyxiate and slowly die. If he fought and clawed his way out of the box, though, out of the box and through the several feet of detritus that had come between him and the world he yearned for, he might be able to live again. If he could just get through this impossibly thick wall in front of him, maybe he could reach the surface and go home...

Every blow he launched at the lid of his lethal chamber split the skin of his hand more deeply. Blood began to flow, but he punched on. The minutes were flying by; he had to work faster. The silence pressed in, broken only by his own noises. The dark was just as bad, confusing him and turning his aim into wild guesswork. Get out, he chanted, driving his fist forward; go home, followed on its heels. Get out; go home. Get out; go home. Get out-

There was a loud splintering sound, followed by a mighty clash of metal. With a massive gasp, Jason sat up and opened his eyes. _Free!_...

He blinked at his blazingly hot apartment, almost unable to believe that he had surfaced here and not in a cold, misty cemetery. Looking down, he found that he had rammed his hand through the door of one of his lower cabinets and into a stack of pots and pans. He pulled a few chunks of wood from his scraped-up forearm and tossed them away. He must have been hitting the solid base of the cabinets when he couldn't get through the coffin lid, he decided. Sure enough, when he stooped down to look he found his own blood smeared a couple of inches above the floor.

He shivered despite the heat. What if he hadn't misjudged his aim so badly and hit the thin door when he did? What if he'd run out of oxygen first? What if he'd _never_ gotten out of that maddening silence? What if he'd been stuck in that awful blackness for the rest of his life? Just a few minutes of missing stimuli had been unbearable, and Dick… He shuddered again.

Dick had been stuck in a similarly sanity-murdering prison for _four days_. How could anyone be the same after something like that?

He bent forward over his knees and let out a dry, desperate sob as a hundred realizations came crashing in on him. He would never know for sure just how long he spent hunched over himself and crying, crying for Dick, crying – surprisingly enough – for Bruce, and crying most of all for himself.

Yes, he wept, Bruce could have done more, should have done more, to avenge him, and Dick bore equal blame. In the long run, though, he had done far more to help his own murderer then they had when they'd failed to claim a life for a life. What else could he call splitting himself off from his own family, fracturing the Batclan, as it were, if not helping the Joker? It hurt that no one had taken revenge, hurt terribly, and it always would, but he had deepened his own pain and left the wound raw for far longer than was necessary. It was as much his fault as it was theirs – more, perhaps, although he wasn't ready to think about that yet.

The desire to go home that he had felt while he'd been in the grips of his restored memory had not been a new addition, but a repeat of the thoughts he'd had when he had been fighting his way out of the grave for real. That first time around he had been an idiotic fool, confused by near-death and consumed by rage, and as a result he had listened to someone he knew to be his enemy instead of listening to his heart. He had turned his back on the people he loved, maybe not as much Talia had intended for him to but enough to injure them nonetheless. At the time it had seemed the smart thing to do; only in the piercing light of the morning did he see the full extent to which he had been used as a pawn.

Now another woman of questionable intent had made him a similar offer of revenge, and with a similar price to match. He snorted derisively. "Nona, you silly bitch," he whispered, swiping at his streaming eyes. He wanted the Joker's head still, of course, and Nona knew it, but the few weeks she'd spent in Gotham had clearly not been time enough for her to conduct her research thoroughly. If she had, he thought, she would have known about his old dealings with Talia. More importantly, she might had discovered that while he wasn't the sort of man who could quickly own up to his own mistakes he _was_ the sort who didn't like to repeat the ones he'd admitted to. "I will not repeat history with you," he swore. "…Not even for a chance at the Joker. Not even…"

He hesitated. Into the gap came the sound of two children giggling outside, their voices made sexless by the distortion of the window. It wasn't difficult to imagine that those happy cries belonged to Marco and Dino. His mental image of that morning's garbage cherubim melted away into moment after moment when it had been Dick and him laughing together. There had been so many of them, he marveled; how had he held them back all this time? How many more had he missed out on while he was in his self-imposed exile?

How many more might he still save despite the silent room, if only he went home now?

When the slideshow ended, the words came easily. "…Not even for a _guarantee _of the Joker," he whispered, standing up. Catching sight of his reflection in the glass above the sink, he stepped closer. There was something new-old in his visage, a spark that had been missing for so long that he'd forgotten it belonged to him. He grinned suddenly, a coy, cocky smirk that almost made him look like a teenager again. Nona had said that he was his own man, he recalled as he examined himself, a man who had made his own path. Looking back on things in the aftermath of his nightmare, he wasn't sure he believed it. He wanted it to be true, but maybe she'd been wrong about that as she had been about other things. Maybe he _wasn't_ his own man; maybe he couldn't make his own path.

But if he was, and if he could, he thought defiantly, then there would never be a better time to prove it.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: We'll be back to Dick's perspective on Thursday. If you haven't done so already, I hope you'll check out the short Halloween story I'm putting out this week, 'A Haunting in Central City.' The first chapter is up, and the second is slated to appear sometime tomorrow. <strong>

**As always, thank you for the many marvelous reviews, and happy reading!**


	23. Chapter 23

He was alone, and that was a relief.

Ever since he'd woken up in this place, there had been others. Not the white-coated gods or their attendant demons – they seemed to have gone away, at least for the moment – but gentler, more passive beings. When they spoke they did so quietly, as if they were pitching their voices low in order to save his delicate eardrums; when he snarled at their approaches they backed off, their hands held where he could see them. They let him eat and drink at his own pace instead of forcing liquids down his throat, and not once yet had they pinned him down and shoved needles under his skin. It was better here, he decided, much better.

While he appreciated the different attitude of his new jailers, he felt drained by having to keep watch on them all the time. The dark, silent cage of before had been terrible, but at least he had been able to sleep there, safe in the knowledge that the entrance of the gods would wake him. Here, though, there was no buffer, no door between him and pain. His guards were with him at all times, and despite their mild treatment of him so far he had no way of knowing that they wouldn't put on long, pale jackets and morph their faces into hideous masks the instant he closed his eyes. Rather than risk waking up in hell again, he forced himself to stay conscious as he long as he could. When his body insisted that he steal a few minutes of rest, he snapped awake again quickly and in a mild panic. Where was his current watcher? Had they moved? Had they changed? Were they coming to hurt him again?

They had never come close, nor had they ever hurt him, but he didn't dare let his walls down. Hadn't his best efforts been overpowered not so very long ago, when the figure cloaked in black had used the light to knock him down and leave him twitching uncontrollably? Remembering that, he shuddered. Were the beings who sat across the room and watched him equally as powerful? Mightn't they reduce him to a trembling heap once more if they so desired? He wasn't sure. They seemed to be slowly acclimating him to the source of power the gods had used to control him – it was the only explanation he could come up with for why the dimness of the room had faded for a while before deepening again – but perhaps that was just subterfuge. Perhaps, he gulped, there was something worse coming, and they wanted to make sure he could handle it without dying.

Were they, he wondered blearily as the back of his head nestled into a corner, related to the figure in black? He had thought that death had finally come for him in the form of that caped specter, but he had apparently been mistaken. Frowning, he reached up and probed cautiously at his injured shoulder. Agony spiked down through his arm and radiated into his chest, drawing a groan. No, he hadn't died; Death wasn't known for wrestling with his victims in the afterlife. Death might hurt at the moment of departure, but it shouldn't hurt afterward. The shadow-clad form had been a transporter of men, not of souls.

The question was, why would such a violent being give him over to the apparent benevolence he found himself in now? It had to be a trick, he determined, his eyes narrowing. They kept saying that he was safe now, but while he had to admit that the cell they'd moved him to was oddly comforting the whole thing still made no sense. Who had rescued him from the black-dressed figure and his pair of minions? He couldn't imagine anyone strong enough to overpower that beast. No, these replacement guards must be collaborating with the trio that had confronted him after he'd collapsed; they were one and the same, all working towards the same goal. Now if only he knew what their aim was, maybe he could thwart it...

For the moment, though, he seemed to have leave to sleep. He hesitated, frightened that he would be playing straight into their hands if he shut his eyes. They had never left him alone before; why now? In the end he decided that it didn't matter. He _had_ to rest; when an opening came for him to fight back, to rebel, to run, he would need all the strength he could muster. Keeping his back tight against the wall and letting the white noise coming out of the machine in the corner wash over his battered and weary mind, he drifted.

The dream that came to him was a strange one. He was still in his prison, but his feelings about it had changed. He _wanted_ to be there, he realized as he looked around, wanted to stay instead of running away. There was a guard back in the chair, but he was no longer a complete stranger. Indeed, he felt drawn to him, pulled in by the pain and guilt in the man's steady gaze. Surely anyone who wore a look like that couldn't be mixed up with the white-coated gods and the devil in black. Surely.

Then the man spoke. "It's okay, Dick," he soothed. "You're safe. Come here, get back into bed. You should be lying down..."

It seemed as if _he_ was the one being spoken to, but why? Was he the cause of that pinched expression, of the dampness he saw spring into the watcher's eyes when he automatically recoiled from his voice? He thought he might be. Guilt flooded him. Clearly he had done something wrong, but what? Curious, he uncurled himself and crawled warily closer.

"That's it, chum," the man went on. "Come up here. Here..." Reaching forward, he tugged the blankets down to reveal crisp, clean white sheets. "Please, kiddo. You need to rest..."

He _did_ need to rest, it was true, and he'd never seen anything quite so inviting as the folds of that deep, luxurious bed. Wasn't this a trick, though? He paused, then pulled back a step. The guards...the guards were...

The guard was crying now, his emotional state belied by the twin trails running down his cheeks. "Lay down, Dicky, _please_," he begged. "Please, lay down..."

He couldn't watch this man cry over things that weren't his fault. It just wasn't right. Each tear hit him like a punch in the gut for some reason, and he had to make them stop. Besides, the bed looked so warm, and he was so cold and stiff after all the time he'd spent curled up on the floor. If it _was_ a trick, he decided, it would almost be worth falling for it just to have a minute, a _second_, between those sheets. His body cried out for comfort, for pampering; he had to try. If nothing else, maybe it would make the crying end.

"There you go," encouragement came as he pulled himself up onto the mattress. It was as soft and as perfect as he'd imagined it would be. For a moment he sat perfectly still, just savoring the cushion beneath his aching knees. Then, moving slowly and watching his guardian all the while, he slipped his legs beneath the covers and let his head touch the pillow.

Bliss. He was in heaven, his muscles already unclenching as he his eyelids began to fall. Fingers touched his cheek and brushed back his hair, but the only protest he made was a faint moan. It felt good, he realized as a blanket was tucked lovingly around him. Everything felt good, and the world was fading away. Maybe, he thought, _this_ was death...

A sharp _click_ broke through his half-conscious haze, and he opened his eyes unwillingly. If they were going to hurt him again, he wished they'd give him just a few more minutes in that other, imagined world first. But where were they? He'd thought he was hearing the door open, but no one entered. Then part of the wall twitched, and a hot, heavy breeze rushed in. A shaft of sunlight appeared, forcing him to bury his face against his knees. _Oh, god,_ he screamed silently. _O__h, god, oh, god, the gods are back...please, no more...no __moooore__...!_

After a second he sensed that the brightness had faded. When it didn't reappear, he told himself that he couldn't fight what he couldn't see and raised his head. A new man, dressed differently than either the gods or his guards, had appeared in the middle of the room. His clothing – all black, with a heavy leather belt and a chain hanging out of one pocket – was closest to that of the caped devil, but his composure belonged to a fugitive rather than an enforcer. For a long moment the intruder simply stood, staring in the direction of the guards' door as if he was daring them to open it and find him here. Then he turned, and their gazes met.

"...I know what they put you through," the man spoke. His voice, like those of the guards, was pitched low, but it was clear that he had whispered only in order to keep his presence unknown. "I...I remember, Dick. I remember everything." He lowered his face for a second, then looked back up. "...Let me help you."

* * *

><p>Tim knew that Bruce would have a hissy fit if he woke up and discovered that Dick had been left alone. He also knew that Jason wasn't likely to come strolling up to the front door of the manor and make a polite request to be taken to his elder brother's sickroom. Both of those things being the case, he had made sure that everyone else in the house was asleep before withdrawing into his own chamber to keep tabs on Dick via webcam. Now, seeing the curtains flutter on screen, his felt his pulse skip a beat. <em>Is it...?<em>

He had been just as disheartened as Damian when they'd returned from their 'patrol' the night before. Red Hood had been their last and, he was certain, their best hope; after the violent reaction their proposal had gotten from him, though, it seemed that they were shit out of luck. Feeling like a failure, he had hustled the teen off to bed – there was no point in upsetting Bruce with the sight of the nasty bruise Jason had left on his cheek, at least not until morning – and then gone to sit with Dick.

It had taken some cajoling, but the billionaire had finally agreed to give up his seat and cross the hall to try and get some sleep. When he was finally alone with his brother, Tim had heaved a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I tried, Dick. I really did. Damian, too. We just…well. You know Jason." He tried to form a wry smile, but it fell flat. "But…I really thought he'd come. I thought that for _you_…"

He supposed it didn't matter what he'd thought; Jason wasn't coming, and that was that. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I'm so sorry…"

Dick didn't say a word, but merely watched him with the same glimmer of suspicion that his stare held for everyone who entered his room. Tim tried to think of something less depressing than his foiled plan to talk about, but nothing came to him. If he'd gotten the sense that Dick was really behind those cool, exhaustion-ringed eyes, he could have talked himself hoarse. But he didn't know the person in the corner, this stranger that had taken over his sibling's body and locked away all of the love and trust that made Dick who he was. He was a foreign aggressor, and Tim had nothing to say to him.

Eventually he had sighed and reached for the photo album on the nightstand. If he couldn't find something to discuss in its pages, then maybe he could at least escape this moment and spend a few remembered seconds with the man who seemed to be lost to him forever. Discovering that the book was in chronological order, he flipped to the halfway point, searching for where he came in. What he opened to was still a bit too early, but it made him pause nevertheless.

There were Dick and Jason, in the midst of a snowball fight; on the next leaf six months had passed, and they lounged around the pool in shorts. Further on he found Jason smirking down from the high branches of a tree, then pulling a face and sticking his tongue out from atop the same limb.

…_Huh. So the sourpuss __is__ capable of good moods. Or at least, he used to be…_ It was surreal to see him as a teenager, laughing, joking, playing. For the first time in his life, Tim was truly sorry that he hadn't known his predecessor before he'd cloaked himself in grudges. The guy didn't look half-bad, really.

He turned the page and was assaulted by one final picture before his own face appeared. There was no indication of who had taken the shot, but he had to respect their sense of timing. Jason sat below Dick on an unidentifiable set of stairs, and was positively beaming up at him. Dick grinned back, but there was something in Jason's expression that Tim himself had felt on many occasions. It was adoration, pure and simple; in that moment the teen had been completely in awe of his elder brother, and the emotion had been too much for him to contain.

_I know how you felt that day, Jason,_ he mused sadly, running one finger along the edge of the photo. _…Which is why I can't understand how you could say no tonight._

But he hadn't actually _said_ no, he realized suddenly. Straightening in his chair, he frowned deeply and ran back through the evening's events. Red Hood had asked questions, yes, had seemed skeptical, certainly, and had finally lashed out at Robin, but after he had heard the words 'silent room' he'd said nothing further about not helping. They'd pissed him off royally – well, Damian had – but he'd been interested in what they were saying up to that point. Maybe, Tim thought, he was repeating the error he had once made with Damian, and was giving up too soon. Dick wouldn't have written Jason off as quickly as he had, he knew; he would have just trusted in that adoring look his little brother had once given him.

Maybe Tim needed to do the same.

Grasping that final straw of hope tightly, he had set the scene. The rest of the house slept the sleep of the hopeless and hurting while he prepared his camera, put away the photo album, and, finally, unlocked the bedroom window. The sky was just beginning to turn red above the trees, and he smiled to see it. If he came at all, Tim was positive that he would come as Jason, not as Red Hood, and that made the dawn a good sign. Seized once more by fresh hope, he shook himself and rephrased his calculation. _If_ he came wasn't right. _When_ he came was much better. It had to be when, not if, because if the when turned out to be never then they would all be lost right along with Dick.

Hours had passed, and then that little flutter had come. He leaned forward, trembling in anticipation. _Please…please, Jason. Please. _A figure rolled silently into the room, crouched for a second, then straightened. Tim gasped. _…__Yes!_

He had no audio, and therefore couldn't hear what it was that Jason said to the figure still curled protectively in the corner, but he saw the results. Some of the suspicion bled out of Dick's posture almost immediately, leaving him looking even more wrung-out and abused than before. He didn't move, but Jason did, taking two steps closer. "Don't," Tim begged quietly. "Don't, you'll scare him…just…just…" But he didn't know what else to do, and since that was the entire reason he'd approached Jason to begin with he shut his mouth and simply watched.

The next five minutes went by in a blur. Somehow the new arrival convinced Dick not only to let himself be draped with a blanket from the bed but also to not have a fit when he sat cross-legged on the floor a mere two feet away. Then, as Tim held his breath two chambers away, Jason reached out and gripped the pale, twitchy fingers of his brother's good arm.

Dick looked down at the point of contact for a long second. When his face finally came back up, it wore a tiny, miraculous smile.

"_Yes_!" Tim exclaimed, throwing his fists triumphantly into the air. "Yes, yes, _yes, __yes_!"

"Tim? What's going on?"

He froze at the sound of Bruce's puzzled query. Slowly lowering his hands as he swiveled around in his chair, he gave him the most intelligent response he could manage. "Uh…"

"I thought you were in with Dick." The billionaire's sleepy gaze left his face and traveled curiously to the screen behind him. "Who took o-" He broke off suddenly, his eyes widening as all of the color left his skin. "…Oh my god," he whispered, grabbing the door for support as he stumbled backward in shock. "…_Jason_."


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Note: My apologies for not posting this on Sunday, but I was busy all weekend with my husband's birthday party. I did post the last bit of 'A Haunting in Central City' today as well, so if you've been reading that it is now complete. Happy reading!**

* * *

><p>"I can explain!" Tim said quickly. "It's okay, Bruce. I...I invited him here." A stranger confession had never been formed by his lips, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. "Damian and I asked Jason to come and help."<p>

The billionaire's bulging eyes hadn't left the screen on which his two eldest children were visible. His mouth moved, but the words were confused and barely audible. "To...to come and..._you_ invited...and Damian?" He shook himself and seemed to snap partway back to reality. "You and Damian asked Jason to come here?"

"Um...yeah. I know it sounds impossible, but...we did. Don't ask me how we convinced him, though. That's beyond me."

Bruce was still gaping at the scene over his shoulder. "Jason's home," he whispered, "and Dick's smiling again." A visible shiver passed through him. When he blinked next, a single tear ran down his cheek. "It's...you...Tim, I..."

"Wait!" Tim cried out a warning as the older man wheeled and bolted into the hallway. There was no question as to where he was going, but he had to stop. To barge in now would be disaster, mayhem, failure. Dick would panic, alarmed by the noise and the sudden arrival of another person, and Jason would be made upset not just by the unraveling of the progress he'd already made with his brother but also by Bruce's presumption. Cursing under his breath, Tim dashed after the runaway.

They were almost to Dick's door before he caught up. A dangerous snarl sounded when he grabbed one thick wrist and hauled back on it. "Stop, Bruce," he implored. "Stop. If you go in there you'll ruin it. Don't ruin it, it's our last chance..."

The threat of throwing away everything that had been gained by the morning's events seemed to sink in slowly. Bruce deflated, the fingers that had been reaching for the knob swinging back to his side as his shoulders slumped and his face took on a haggard, pleading expression. "I want to go in there, Tim," he whined, forty years of maturity vanishing in an instant. "I want to see them."

"I know you do, but you know how Jason is," he insisted. "Let him do whatever he's doing first. If you piss him off after that I don't really care, but give him a chance to fix Dick."

"…It's working, isn't it? It looked like-" He glanced back at the door he'd nearly burst through a second earlier and wiped one hand nervously across his mouth. "It looked like it was working."

"I think it is. Let's go back and watch, okay?" If he could just get Bruce away from them before he did something stupid, everything would be all right.

"But I...fine." On the verge of pouting, the billionaire allowed himself to be led back to where they'd started. "...Tim, I don't understand," he said when he'd been seated in front of the computer and had once more riveted his stare to the feed from two doors down.

"It's a little bit of a long story."

"I don't care. If I can't go in and be with them, I want to at least know how this is happening. Give me that much, son, please."

The rarely-spoken familial label and the begging tone in which it was said broke him. "All right," he agreed, dropping onto the bed. "But you're not going to like it..."

When he'd finished his tale, Bruce pulled his gaze away from the webcam feed just long enough to speak three heartfelt words. "Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"...You're not mad that we went into Hood's territory without telling you?" he asked as the other man turned away again.

"I should be mad about that, the same as I should be mad about Damian going to bed with an unexamined patrol injury, but...well, the end results of the risks you took last night are so...so extraordinary," he murmured, "that I can't bring myself to be upset about your methods." A beat passed. "...Did Damian actually say that to Jason? About a silent room being like...like a grave?"

"Word for word the way I quoted it," Tim nodded. "Which is why Jason punched him. I'm just lucky the kid's quick; we'd have been screwed if he'd broken his nose."

"Yes, you would have been. That couldn't have been put off until morning."

Caught up in observing the action on the screen, neither spoke for several minutes. Jason still held Dick's hand, but now it appeared that Dick was beginning to squeeze back. They couldn't see Jason's mouth moving, but Dick was watching him with a rapt, unsuspecting attention of the sort they hadn't seen since the rescue. Whatever was being said was having an effect, and Tim could think of very few things for which he had ever been more thankful.

Then, finally, Dick spoke. He had lowered his head to an angle that made lip-reading impossible, but the gist of his comment was made clear by the way Jason turned and stared straight at the camera. "Oh, no," Tim moaned. "He saw me set everything up. I didn't even think about it. He hasn't been talking, you know?" If Jason didn't consider that someone had had to be able to watch Dick from afar in order to give him an opening to come into the room, all might be lost. "I didn't think he'd say anything!"

"It's okay," Bruce soothed, reaching out blindly to pat his knee. "Relax. Look."

Jason narrowed his eyes at them, but his mien was more contemplative than upset. After a second he returned his attention to Dick and made some remark that smoothed the worry from his brow, as well. The pair down the hall released their held tension in dual sighs. "That was close," Tim breathed.

"What was close?" a new voice queried from the doorway. Damian stepped into the room, then halted when the computer screen came into view. An incredulous look spread across his face. "...Drake?" he managed.

"Yeah?"

"You need to be careful."

He frowned, unsure if the warning was meant to be legitimate or not. "You mean because Jason's in the house?"

"No. I mean because this is the second time this year you've been right about something. Do it again and people are going to start thinking you're intelligent."

Bruce snorted in amusement. "I'm sorry, Tim," he apologized as he shook with barely-contained chuckles. "I don't know why I'm...obviously you're intelligent, I just...it's just..."

"It's just relief," Tim allowed. "I get it."

"Is Grayson _smiling_?" Damian queried, drawing another step closer.

"Yeah."

"...And we're sure that Todd hasn't done something cruel like mind-controlled him or anything like that?"

"Damian!" Bruce lectured.

But Damian was looking at Tim, not at his father. "It's innocent," he verified. "I'm not sure exactly what he did, or why Dick is responding to him so quickly and so well – I thought it would at least take a little time for things to warm up between them, but it hasn't – but...well, from the looks of things we might be able to ask Dick about that ourselves before too much longer."

"So you trust him?"

"I..." _No_, the voice of caution and past experience tried to speak for him. Alone on a dark street with Red Hood, he wouldn't dare to trust the man. Here, though, and in the light of day... "I trust my eyes," he settled finally. "And my eyes tell me that he came here today to help, not to hurt." Bruce sent him a pleased nod, and his conviction deepened. "Besides, he only just realized that we're watching," he went on. "If he'd wanted to hurt him, he would have done it right off the bat."

Damian didn't appear to be wholly convinced, but there was an element of uncertainty about him that hadn't been present before. "Mmph," he harrumphed. "I take it that Pennyworth and Gordon are unaware of the situation, since they aren't here?"

Bruce shifted. "Someone should get Alfred," he opined. "He'll be pleased."

Tim and Damian exchanged a look. The meaning behind the boy's half-lifted eyebrow was clear; he wasn't leaving, not when he'd just gotten his first few glimpses of an improved Dick. Tim sighed and stood up. "I'll go," he volunteered unwillingly. "I'll get them both."

"Good," Damian said, and slipped around him to occupy his spot on the mattress. He started with Alfred, choosing him partially because that had seemed to be Bruce's wish and partially because he felt that the ever-loyal butler deserved to hear the good news first. Despite the late hour of the morning the kitchen and the downstairs halls were deserted, and after only a brief search he surmised that the no doubt exhausted man was still in bed. Approaching his rooms at the rear of the house, he felt a smile slip across his face. _You're going to flip when you hear what I have to tell you..._

The door opened almost before he could finish knocking. "...Master Tim? What..." Alfred, still dressed in the previous day's rumpled suit, peered at him closely. "...You're smiling, young sir. Has something encouraging occurred?"

Remembering Bruce's reaction, Tim waved him backwards into his elegantly appointed sitting room. "You should probably sit down for this."

"...Very well, if you insist." Dropping back into a deep armchair that appeared to have been slept in, the Englishman pressed him for information with an uncharacteristic impatience. "What is it, then?"

He took a deep breath, suddenly relishing his job as messenger. "...Jason's here," he announced.

Alfred blinked at him. "All...all four of you?" he whispered. "You're…all four…in this house at the same time? Is that correct?"

"Yes. Jason's in with Dick. And Dick...Dick's _smiling_." His own grin grew. "He even talked a minute ago. Dick did, I mean."

"...Coherently, young sir?"

"Yup. At least it looked that way."

Alfred's eyes flashed as he gave a triumphant hiss. "And has Master Wayne been informed?"

"Yeah. He came into my room right at the beginning. I was watching on video," he explained. "Anyway, it's a long story, but Bruce practically shit a brick when he saw." Realizing what he'd just said, he blushed. "...Sorry. I'm just excited."

"While under normal circumstances your language would be deserving of chastisement, Master Tim, I fully believe that in this case it was an accurate description, and is therefore somewhat less reprehensible." Appearing shell-shocked but eager, the butler rose from his seat. "I don't believe I'll even take the time to change. Propriety be damned, the news is so great..."

They rushed back up the stairs. Alfred made as if to turn into Dick's room, but Tim stopped him. "We're all in my room," he urged. "I don't think we should interrupt them, you know?"

"Hmm...I understand your logic, young sir, but I do worry that Master Jason will perform whatever magic he is working and then take off without a word to Master Wayne. That would be unbearable."

He winced and tried not to imagine Bruce's face were that to happen. "I know," he agreed, "but that's still better than us scaring Jason off before he can finish doing whatever he's doing."

"Ah…you're right, of course, we must not disturb them. Master Dick's wellbeing is naturally the first priority." His face worked, a half dozen emotions crossing it in the space of a few seconds. "I only hope that Master Jason will…well, I suppose there's nothing I can do about it either way…"

"Here," Tim took pity on the man finally. "Just...just come see, okay? Go look in my room while I get Barbara."

"Oh, yes, do get Miss Barbara; she'll be overjoyed to hear that there's been progress…"

Once Alfred was safely positioned before the live feed on the computer screen, Tim speed-walked down the hall in the other direction. Rounding the corner, he counted three doors and knocked urgently.

It took the paralyzed woman a fair bit longer to answer than it had taken the butler, but Tim was still surprised by the alacrity with which the portal opened. "...Tim?" she asked with a puzzled expression. Then she paled. "Oh, god, what's happened? Is he alright?!"

"It's okay," he assured. "He's fine. He's...better than fine, actually." There it was again, that strange little high he was getting from giving out good news. "...You want to see him smile?"

She was barefooted and clad only in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt – both of which, he realized belatedly, were Dick's – but she rolled into the hallway so quickly that she almost ran him over. "I've been waiting for days to see that smile again," she said, her voice thick. "Let's go."

He got an odd look when he told her to turn into his room instead of going on towards her boyfriend's, but she obeyed without question. Alfred stepped aside to make space, and Barbara immediately gasped. "Is that _Jason_?!"

"It is," Bruce verified distantly. "It...it really is."

"But how-?"

"Long story," Tim and Damian said at the same time.

"...Oh."

"I haven't heard the tale yet either, Miss Barbara," Alfred consoled, squeezing the woman's shoulder in a show of solidarity. "We'll just have to wait for things to resolve themselves a little, I expect."

"Speaking of," Tim pointed to the screen. "Look."

Jason had risen to his feet. He turned in a slow circle, seemingly taking in the details of a room he had not seen in several years. Then he walked to the window and parted the curtains a few inches.

"He's not leaving?!" Bruce exclaimed. Tim glanced at him and saw that his fingers were pressed into his biceps tightly enough to leave bruises. "I'm going to stop-"

"Wait, sir!" Alfred ordered. The billionaire paused in an awkward half-standing position. "...Wait and watch."

"If he goes-"

"If he chooses to go then it will do nothing but cause harm to try and stop him. You know that, Bruce," the butler said gently. "...Sit down and watch."

Amazingly, Bruce listened. Back on screen, Dick was shielding his still-sensitive eyes from the sunlight with one hand. He wasn't cowering the way he had when Jason had entered, however, and Tim took that as a very good sign. Suddenly he spoke again, mouthing a single word whose shape could be made out clearly by everyone. A collective gasp ran through the room.

"...He called him by name," Barbara boggled. "He...he _recognized_ him."

"Good lord," Alfred marveled gratefully.

"Don't you dare go out that window," Bruce begged. "Don't you _dare_, Jason..."

They fell silent again. Jason had glanced back at his brother when he'd heard his name, but now he faced the outside world once more. His shoulders rose and fell under a heavy sigh. His posture was uncomfortable, but undetermined; he was torn, and it showed.

_Stay,_ an unbidden thought entered Tim's head. _Stay, Jason._ He'd never imagined that he would want such a thing to occur, but there it was. It would mean figuring out how to deal with someone who had made no bones in the past about preferring him dead, but then Damian had once expressed similar sentiments. Peeking over at the teen, Tim felt his brows draw down. Despite the past, he'd come to care for the little asshole over the last year, and he was fairly confident that the feeling was mutual. If such a thing was possible with the demon child, then why not with the black sheep, too?

Dick spoke again. _'Don't leave me alone_,' Tim read silently. _Aw, Dick...jesus, man._ His eyes burned. _You're not alone, Dick. You're never alone. Please, please don't really feel that way..._

Regardless of whether or not his words had expressed a true loneliness, they worked. Jason stared at him for a long second, then reached up, gripped the window sash, and pulled it down. With the way he'd come into the house sealed, he swiveled a hundred and eighty degrees. No one breathed as he stared down at his shoes. Then they drew air in one massive, disbelieving gasp as he strode towards the door.

Bruce shot to his feet. "Alfred?!" he asked, requesting permission.

The butler closed his eyes above his wet cheeks and nodded. "…Go to him."


	25. Chapter 25

They met in the hall in front of Dick's door. For a long moment they simply stared at one another, neither of them able to speak. Then Jason ducked his head, twisting his lips into a heavy frown as he did so. _Don't look at me like that,_ he bit back. _So...so __hopefully__. Stop it._

"Jason-" a husky whisper caressed his name.

"No," he interjected quickly. "...No. This isn't about you and me. Not...not yet." Later, maybe, he would be ready to have that discussion, to reconcile, or at least to come to an understanding, but the moment hadn't yet arrived. It was now only a matter of days or weeks away – his stepping foot in this house as a civilian had changed everything, it seemed – but it was still in the future somewhere. "This is about Dick."

Bruce's face contorted as if he desperately wanted to object. "Then...then tell me about him," he managed finally. "You...what did you do?"

He grimaced. "I didn't really do anything."

"What? Yes, Jason, yes you did. You weren't here before, you don't understand...he wasn't talking before you came, at least not intelligently. No one could get near him. He didn't recognize any of us...but he said your name just now." A tiny smile appeared. "You got him to smile, and talk, and say your name. _How_?"

Jason considered the man in front of him. The truth was going to hurt him, and for the first time in years he really didn't want to cause him pain. "He has a fever," he reported instead of answering the question. "A pretty high one, I think. His hands are broiling."

As he'd thought would be the case, the billionaire was immediately distracted. "A fever?" He glanced at the closed door with a wince. "We didn't expect that. His injuries weren't that extreme. But...you're the only one he'll let close to him. If Alfred gives you something for him to take, will...will you get him to drink it? J'onn doesn't think we should sedate him if we don't have to, and now that..." He hiccuped, his emotions trying to break through. "...Now that you're home there's another option."

"Bruce..." Was he home? He wasn't sure. Part of him wanted to be, and was rejoicing at the sight of the familiar corridor in which they stood. The angry blade he had been honing in his mind ever since he had felt the first pinch of betrayal and abandonment still gleamed in the darkness, though, casting his homecoming into doubt. Still, he noted curiously, it was much easier to sheath that edge now than it had been even a few hours before. He wasn't sure what that meant, but it felt like an improvement.

"_Please_, Jason. You're the only one who's been able to get through to him."

There was nothing for it, he decided; Bruce had to know what had been said in Dick's chamber, or he wouldn't understand the problem they were facing. "I'll give him the medicine," he agreed, "but there's something you need to know first."

"Tell me." The older man reached out as if to clasp his shoulder, but Jason flinched backwards. It was an involuntary motion, the result of long-ingrained muscle memory, and he regretted it instantly. Bruce's arm halted midway between them, then fell back. "...What did you do in there? How did you-"

"That's what I'm trying to explain," he cut him off. "But you're not going to like it." Taking a deep breath, he described his suspicions in as few words as possible. "He's afraid of you, of all of you. He responded to me mostly because of the fact that I sneaked in, I think. He thinks that I'm...that I'm here to save him."

"To save him from what? He's safe now!"

"To save him from _you_, Bruce. He thinks...he thinks that you're keeping him prisoner here, like he was kept in the silent room."

The billionaire's face crumbled. "He thinks...he thinks _we're_ keeping him prisoner?" he repeated in a stunned voice. "But...he's in his own bedroom, for god's sake! We haven't kept him locked in, he just hasn't tried to move to anywhere else! He..." He shook his head. "He said all of those things to you?"

"Not in as many words, no, but...he asked if I was going to help him break out. When you and the re-" He cut himself off. It was going to be difficult, he realized, to refer to the third Robin by his actual name after working to dehumanize him for so long. "...When you and _Tim_ were out here talking," he tried again, "we could hear your voices. He started biting his lip and looking at the window like he was wondering if we were going to go before we got caught. Then...then at the end he asked me not to leave him alone." He closed his eyes for a second and struggled not to recall the exact tone of his brother's terrified plea. "He's afraid. That's why he's not responding to any of you."

Bruce held up one hand and turned away briefly. When he swiveled back around there were fresh spots of dampness beneath his eyes, and the hand he had just swiped at them with was trembling. "But you came in through the window and acted sneaky, so he trusts you?"

"I...I think so." There was more to it than just that, but he kept his mouth shut. His fugitive's entrance had helped his credibility, to be sure, but he was convinced that his first words had sealed his position as an ally in Dick's mind. If he told Bruce that, though, the man would want to know what he'd said, no doubt hoping to copy it and gain his own access to his confused child. But Jason wasn't ready for that. To tell his brother that he remembered what the dark, silent interior of his coffin had been like was one thing, but to inform his former mentor of the same fact was something else entirely.

"Oh, Dicky-bird..." The groan pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to find Bruce standing at the closed door. As he watched the man laid his forehead and one palm against the lacquered wood. "I'm so sorry, chum..."

No decent human being could have stood silently by in sight of such a pained display. Not yet willing to offer physical comfort, Jason talked to fill the gap. "...I don't know what else to do for him. I can take medicine and things in to him, but that's only going to work for so long before he gets suspicious and stops trusting me."

The billionaire straightened slowly and cast a needful look over his shoulder. "...He knew your name, though," he insisted. "He must have recognized you on some level deeper than the one that thinks you're here to save him from us if he said your name."

"No," Jason shook his head. "I...I gave him my name." It had been clear when he'd come into the room that Dick didn't know who he was, but he'd tried to spark his memory as he'd walked towards him. _'It's me,'_ he ran back through that moment in his head. _'It's Jason. It's me._' "Maybe he recognized me, Bruce, but I honestly think he just remembered what I'd already told him my name was."

"Then maybe-"

"Bruce? My apologies for coming in unannounced, but I didn't find anyone downstairs and I sensed the stress on this floor..." J'onn's apology trailed off as Jason turned to face him. For a second the Martian blinked at him as if he wasn't sure of what he was seeing; then he nodded once and offered a cordial greeting. "Hello, Jason. I'm glad to see you here." His gaze traveled to Dick's door and then to Bruce before returning to him. "...It seems as if your presence has already done a great deal of good."

"J'onn," Bruce drew their attention. "...Maybe _you_ can...but it's risky..."

"Maybe I can what, Bruce? I stopped short of reading your minds for what has transpired; all I am working off of are everyone's surface emotions."

"Jason?" the billionaire queried. "Will you repeat what you told me?"

He wasn't delighted by the sudden arrival of another JLA member, but at least J'onn was likely to be able to help them with the predicament before them. "I assume you already know the basics?" he asked.

"Of what happened to Dick, yes. Your role in it is something of a mystery to me, however."

He hesitated, wondering how much of what he had refrained from telling Bruce would be spelled out in his mind for the Martian to see. Before he could come up with a way to say as much without revealing that he had hidden anything from the billionaire, J'onn reassured him.

"Your secrets will remain your secrets, Jason. The mere fact that you are here tells me that they are not things I need to worry about for the safety of others."

It was the best he was going to get, and he knew it. Thinking hard about shielding his mind – just because J'onn had never lied to him before didn't mean he wouldn't do so now – he went back over everything he had told Bruce. "...And that's where we were when you came in," he said finally, wrapping up his story. "Trying to figure out what to do now."

"...I can tell you that you've already done a great deal. He's gone from trusting no one to trusting you, and that is a very important step."

"He...he_ actually_ trusts me? You're sure?" After everything he had tried to or threatened to do to Dick and those he cared about, it seemed impossible that he would be the first person his brother managed to trust after going through such a horrible ordeal.

"I'm certain of it. Not only does he trust you, he's beginning to get worried that you won't come back for him."

"J'onn," Bruce interjected, "can you tell...does Dick really believe that we've been holding him hostage here? Was...is Jason right about that?"

The Martian's face softened into something approaching pity, and Jason knew what the answer was going to be before it was spoken. "...Yes, Bruce. I'm afraid that he does believe that. And I'm afraid that I have no way of knowing how long that will remain the case." He paused. "The fact that he is talking and trusting again suggests that his walls are weakening. If I can get his consent to enter his mind, I may be able to push some of them over and hypothetically speed his recovery."

"Do it, then," the billionaire all but ordered. "Fix him."

"It's no guarantee," J'onn warned. "It's also risky, not just to Dick but also to you, Jason."

Jason narrowed his eyes. "Risky to me how?" To his surprise he realized that he would do just about anything it took to get Dick back to being...well, back to being Dick...but there were always limits.

"I'm going to need to gamble his trust in you in order to gain access to his mind. If he lets me in and then something I do triggers a defensive mechanism or upsets him in another way, it may result in his lumping us both in with the rest of your family."

"...So he'd think I was working with the others to keep him in jail?"

"Possibly, yes."

"What are the odds of that?"

"I don't know. His defenses are beyond superb. It's not necessarily something you should be pleased about, given the circumstances," he added a bit sharply as a bolt of pride lit across Bruce's face. "I may be able to get inside and speed his healing. I believe that if I am careful that is the most likely outcome. I may also end up making things worse, possibly even worse than they were before. Or I may do nothing at all, good or bad. I simply do not know, and I won't know until I'm inside of his head."

"...Could you do it from out here?" Jason ventured. "Then you wouldn't have to tie me into it. If something went wrong, he'd still trust me." Having gained his big brother's confidence, he didn't want to risk losing it. That desire stemmed not just from concern for Dick's mental health but also from the slightly perverse joy he was feeling about the situation. For the first time ever, he was the only person Dick wanted to be around. Even Bruce was suddenly exempt from his smiles. Jason knew that it wouldn't, _couldn't, _last forever like this, and he was willing to do his part to restore the natural order of things, but that was the only way he would willingly give up his new status as most trusted.

But J'onn was shaking his head. "I wouldn't dare. The odds of him reacting negatively to a forced entry are much higher than if I go in with his permission, and the best way for me to get that permission is if you sponsor me as someone worthy of being trusted. I know it's a big risk, but if it works it could give him the opening he needs in order to regain control of himself."

He looked down at his shoes and didn't speak for a moment. "…Jason," Bruce broke the silence. "Please. I'm…I'm begging you, son. Please do this for your brother."

_'Son'?_ His throat thickened, but he choked the sensation down. _Goddamn it, Bruce._ _Stop trying to guilt-trip me._ That hadn't been the billionaire's intentions at all, of course, but admitting as much to himself would have meant also admitting that that title meant something to him. He couldn't deal with that yet, not on top of everything else that had happened in the last few hours. Banishing the topic, he returned to the question at hand.

As great of a gamble as J'onn's request would be, the more he thought about it the harder it became to refuse. For all that he didn't want to endanger Dick's faith in him, he couldn't help but feel like it wasn't _really_ his brother who had latched onto him. There was something to be said for being the only person deemed worthy of his trust, sure, but somehow it didn't mean the same when it wasn't a whole, healthy Dick offering him that esteemed position. Perhaps it was better to be one of many sharing in something real than to have full possession of the shadow of what you truly wanted. The thought flew in the face of everything he had purported to believe for the past several years, but it rang true in a way that none of his other mantras had for a long time. _…Goddamn it, Dick. I love you too much to leave you like this._

Raising his head, he caught Bruce's pleading gaze. "This had better work." Then he turned to J'onn and committed himself. "…Ok. I'm in."


	26. Chapter 26

Dick waited in his corner, uncertainty pounding in his veins as unintelligible voices rose and fell outside. Jason had exited several minutes before without any explanation, ignoring his plea and leaving him all alone once more. The action had wounded him, but it worried him as well. If the other man had gone out the window, he would have been safe; going out the door led him straight into the guards' territory, though, and that was very, very dangerous.

The window... He turned his head and considered the curtained portal. Was it possible, he wondered, that Jason had chosen the door so that he could distract the guards? If so, this was his chance to escape. It would hurt, he knew – the light was slowly becoming less painful for him to confront, but from what little he'd seen there was a great deal of the stuff outside – but temporary agony was preferable to non-stop fear. He should go, should get out now while there was a chance that no one was watching...

Before he could do more than stand up, the door opened. Pressing back against the wall, he tensed. If Jason had been caught, would the guards have traced his incursion back to this cell? They could punish him so easily for not sounding the alarm on an interloper. Then again, shouldn't their camera crew have noticed that there was someone else in the room with him long before now? He shook his head fretfully. Nothing made any sense. Everything was changing too fast, contradicting itself, confusing him. An awful headache had started up behind his eyes, and was growing more overwhelming with each passing second. Reaching up with his good hand, he squeezed the bridge of his nose. _Make it stop_...

"Dick?"

He looked up to find that it was Jason, not the guards, who had come in. While he was glad to see him free and unhurt, he couldn't help but be curious about what his reappearance meant. Were they leaving together, perhaps? It was the only logical explanation he could come up with, but the other man didn't seem to be in any hurry. In fact, his entire mien had shifted since he'd gone marching out the door. The figure coming towards him no longer wore the attitude of a trespasser but rather that of a slightly unwilling house guest, compelled to stay but walking on eggshells all the while.

The new atmosphere tickled something deep inside of Dick, an old memory of how things had once been before the gods and the black-clad demon had made his life a living hell. He grasped after it, but it slipped through his fingers and vanished into the darkness clouding his mind. Frustrated, he let out a tiny moan.

"Dick?" Jason had stopped less than a foot away and was peering at him closely. "You okay?"

Questions flashed through his head. Where were the guards? What had Jason done with them? Where were they going now? Why was _he_ going anywhere? What was so special about him that he deserved to be rescued? The last query in particular struck him. If Jason had been through the same things as he had – if he had dealt with the silence and the darkness and the torture, only to escape in the end – then why would he risk it all by returning to free another prisoner? "...Jason?" he ventured slowly.

"Yeah?"

"Why..." He blinked hard as he tried to feed words through the tangled wires of his brain, which seemed to be fighting his efforts. "Why did you come back?"

Jason stared at him for a long, speechless second. His eyes grew damp, and he finally tore them away just before they overflowed. "...I came back to save you," he whispered.

"But why? Why _me_?" There were others more deserving of relief than he was, surely.

"...Because you're my brother, Dick." Jason's voice trembled. "You're my brother, and...and I guess I finally figured out that that's never going to change. We'll always have certain things in common because of it, and this...this is just another one of those things. A _bad_ thing, but...a shared thing. Okay?"

Shared things...brothers...the inexplicable familiarity that had teased him a moment earlier ghosted back into view, then vanished again the instant he focused on it. Nevertheless, he believed what had been said; Jason was his brother, and that was that. "...Jason?" he asked once more.

"Yeah, Dick?"

"How did you get your memories back?" If his were missing, then the other man's must have been too when he first escaped from his cell.

A sheen of ire washed over Jason's face. It fell away quickly, but it was enough to plunge Dick into desperation. "Please," he begged. "I can't reach them. They're right there, but I can't...they run away...please..."

"Okay! Okay. I...I think I know how to get them back for you. But we're not going to do the same thing that got me back my memories." Jason shuddered. "Just...no. I have a better way, okay? You have to trust me, though, Dick." Hands gripped his elbows insistently. "If you don't trust me, it won't work."

"I..." He hesitated. He had had perfect faith in the other man earlier, but things had changed since then. The guards hadn't come in despite the camera, which seemed impossible considering the round-the-clock watch they'd been mounting until not so long ago. Then there had been voices outside instead of the sounds of a scuffle. Now they stood talking as if they were in no danger instead of fleeing the prison like sane people would. It made no sense, something within him growled. Had Jason beaten everyone and just didn't think it was worth mentioning, or had he been working with his jailers all along?

Only the second answer fit the evidence, but it didn't satisfy the bubble of joy that rose in his stomach every time their gazes met. Thinking and feeling warred within his skull, each fighting for total dominance. He knew it was wrong, knew that there needed to be a balance of some sort, yet he was helpless to apply his knowledge. "I just want this to stop," he whined finally, pinching his nose so hard that his vision blurred. "Make it _stop..."_

"I'm _trying,_ but you have to trust me first."

He couldn't stand the battle being fought behind his eyes any longer. It suddenly didn't matter if the other man was a double agent; if trusting him would lead to some sort of peace, he would shove his doubts aside and give in to whatever happened. Just so long as the pain went away and he managed to get a hold on that slippery memory...

"...Dick? Look at me. Look at me and tell me that you trust me."

It took every ounce of strength he had left, but he managed to raise his head and meet his brother's strangely needful stare. "I trust you, Jason," he breathed. "I trust you. Just please...make it stop?"

His knees gave out beneath him as the last syllable left his lips. Jason's grateful voice registered just before the feverish fog of war closed off the outside world completely. "No matter what happens, keep trusting me, okay? I need you to keep trusting me."

_Of course I'll trust you, Jay,_ he thought as he faded away. _...After all, you're my brother..._

* * *

><p>Jason spotted Dick's swaying a full thirty seconds before he finally fell, and as such he was ready for the collapse when it happened. Catching him, he struggled to hold him upright. "I need you to keep trusting me," he murmured as he gripped him around the waist in a half-hug. <em>Please, Dick. When you wake up – when you're yourself again – please, please still trust me. That's all I want out of this whole mess, I swear. <em>

"What just happened?!" Bruce's frenzied call came from the direction of the door.

"Hold on," he sniped. "I'm a little busy." Heaving, he dragged his brother towards the bed. Heat was pouring off of his load, leaving Jason with no doubt as to what had caused him to pass out. "Jesus, you're heavier than I remembered," he cursed as sweat formed on the back of his neck.

J'onn spoke suddenly from beside him. "Let me help you." Another arm slipped into the mix, and the weight he was carrying instantly lightened. In a moment they had their patient stretched out on the mattress, but the Martian didn't look pleased. "His fever is higher than I realized from the hall," he grimaced.

"Bruce said he doesn't know why he has one. His injuries shouldn't have caused it so far as I can tell, so unless he's sick I've got no ideas, either."

"What just..." The billionaire trailed off as he stepped into the room and spotted the trio on the bed. "Why is he unconscious?!"

"He's overheated," J'onn explained. "I believe his fever may be a physical manifestation of his psychological distress."

That news seemed to calm Bruce slightly. "He always _did_ used to run a temperature when he was overloaded as a child," he mused. His eyes crinkled with restrained pain. "It never made him faint, though."

"Hmm...we seem to have been returned to our previous hurdle. I can try and go in, but it really would have been better if I'd gotten his permission first. His passive state will help keep me from alarming him, but the risk is still higher than it might have been if he was properly prepared."

Jason glared as two sets of eyes riveted themselves to him. "I went as fast as I could, okay? He was already standing up and half freaking out when I came in. Then he started asking questions, and I couldn't just ignore them and hope he didn't mind." He stopped himself there, biting his tongue hard. As upset as it made him to have the blame for their predicament turned in his direction, arguing about it wasn't doing Dick any good. Determined to find a solution for this new turn in the trail, he thought hard. "...Right before he passed out he said he trusted me. If I tell him now that you're going to enter his mind and that he should trust you and let you do what you need to do, will that help?"

"...It may. The unconscious mind processes many things without us ever knowing about them. So long as the message gets through, my job will be easier."

"Okay. Good." Neither man moved. After a minute Jason crossed his arms expectantly. "Could I have some privacy, maybe?"

J'onn finally rose. "We'll be right outside when you're ready," he said. "...Bruce?"

The billionaire didn't look happy, but he gave a terse nod and followed the Martian out.

"...Okay," Jason muttered when he'd been left alone. Turning so that his back was facing the camera, he leaned forward and began to speak quietly. "Listen, Dick...I know we didn't get to talk about it before you went off into la-la land, but I'm not the only one you have to trust." He paused, hoping for some sort of a reaction to that news. Dick remained perfectly still save for the almost-too-rapid rise and fall of his chest, though, and Jason felt his shoulders slump. "Christ, can you even hear me right now?" He sighed. "Look...J'onn – you know J'onn, even if you don't remember right now – is going to go into your mind and look around. He might do some stuff, too. I don't know what or I'd tell you, but the point is that you have to let him do...well...whatever it is he tries to do."

He stopped. How would he feel, he contemplated, if he was passed out and someone he couldn't remember knowing started moving stuff around in his brain? "...I know it's going to be hard," he went on slowly. "I know you're going to want to fight, to push him out. But you just _can't._ If you do, you might never get your memories back. I'm...I'm not the one who can help you find them; J'onn is. You have to..." The next words tried to stick in his throat, but he forced them out. "...You have to trust J'onn as much as you trust me, okay? It's important. It's..." He gulped, feeling the precious pedestal on which he had briefly stood in his brother's mind cracking beneath the weight of his admonition. "...It's the only way, Dick. I can't fix you, so you have to trust J'onn to do it. If you can do that, then maybe..."

His mouth hung open for a moment as he struggled to give voice to his most secretly-held desire. It was only when he took up his brother's fingers and squeezed them that he found the strength to speak. "...Then maybe we can _both_ stop being alone."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: I know some of you had been hoping for more Dick and Jay fluff, so there you go. :D On Tuesday we'll have a little Bruce and Jason interaction, and we'll see whether J'onn makes things better or worse inside Dick's head. Happy reading!<strong>


	27. Chapter 27

He stepped back into the hallway a minute later and halted before J'onn. "I did the best I could," he said.

"Then I will do the same," the Martian replied, sending him an appreciative nod. "I'm going to lock the door and shut off the camera. It's best if no one disturbs us until I've completed as much as possible."

Bruce, who had been pacing the hall with aggravation writ large on his face, pulled to a stop. "The camera won't disturb you," he argued.

"Not directly, no. But it may disturb _you_ if Dick reacts badly to my intrusion. If I find myself in that situation I may be able to work things out so that I can stay and try to get something done, but that will impossible if you come charging through the door in a worried panic."

"So just lock the door!"

"He said 'through' the door, Bruce," Jason snorted. "Don't try and tell us you wouldn't kick it in if Dick started...I don't know, freaking out or something." He'd intended to say 'having a seizure', but he bit the words back at the last second. Considering what was about to be done to his brother, a seizure seemed far too likely. To say such a thing and then have it happen, potentially with damaging consequences...it was too much of a gamble, even for him.

"I've held back this long! He _fainted_ and I still hung back!"

"Barely," J'onn interjected, his gaze knowing. "...Barely, Bruce. You're a master of self-control under most circumstances, but Jason's right; you won't be able to stay out if you know something's gone wrong."

The billionaire crossed his arms and stared at them both for a long, silent moment. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head. "...Just do what you need to do, J'onn. Whatever you need to do. Just…just fix this."

Having received that blessing, J'onn disappeared into Dick's bedroom. Neither of the men who had been left alone together spoke for several seconds. Jason had just let his eyes fall to his shoes when he heard his name. "...Yeah?"

Bruce was watching him, and gave out a faint smile as he looked up. "Thank you," he breathed. "Thank you for doing whatever it is that you did in there. I'm not asking for details," he hastened to assure as Jason tensed, "even though I did before. J'onn said that there might be things you want to keep between you and Dick, and...and that's fine." The corners of his lips twitched momentarily higher. "You two always _were_ good at keeping secrets from me. But evidently you made a huge difference in what's going on inside your brother's head, and that's...thank you for that."

"Yeah, well..." What else was he supposed to do if not try to help? Sit at home as if nothing had happened while Dick wrestled with the end results of four days in a silent room? His mouth tightened as he recalled that he had tried quite hard to do _exactly_ that until Nona and his dream of death had intervened. He had now done what he could in regards to the nightmare, but as for the woman... "There's something you need to know about, Bruce."

"What is it?"

"It's..." He trailed off. If he warned his former mentor of the risk that Nona posed not only to the Joker but to all of Gotham, there would be no turning back. Not only would he be choosing sides, he would be choosing the side he'd sworn never to return to. And yet, he mused, he'd come here today and told his brother that he didn't want to be alone any more. It was true, and if everyone in this house was to die defying a new criminal hierarchy then he supposed that he'd prefer going out with them to being left truly and utterly on his own in the world. "It's Nona."

"...Nona?" Bruce peered at him. "When did you find out about her?"

"Last night, after Red Robin and Robin...um...left." He was about to launch into the story when Tim's door flew open further down the corridor. Damian stormed out, followed closely by the others.

"Why has the picture gone out?" the boy raged.

"J'onn deactivated the camera," Bruce answered. He looked as if he was annoyed by the child's interruption, and that made Jason strangely happy. Evidently he wasn't the only Robin who could trigger that irked line to appear between the billionaire's eyebrows. Even more interesting, he noted, was that the petulant child was wearing the bruise he'd earned the night before as if it was a medal he'd been awarded for bravery. Maybe the smart-mouthed little bastard wasn't as useless as he'd always thought him to be...

"What for?" Damian demanded now.

"So Bruce wouldn't freak out and go through the door if he saw something go wrong," Tim deduced. "...Right?"

"Heh." Five sets of eyes turned at the sound of Jason's short, unbidden laugh. Half embarrassed and half amused, he shrugged. "...He's got you pegged."

"Well what are we supposed to do, then?!" The thirteen-year-old crossed his arms in a very passable imitation of his father. "Just stand in the hall for another twelve hours and wait?!"

"I doubt it will take Mr. J'onzz quite that long to do whatever it is that he's doing, young sir," Alfred tried to soothe the boy.

Jason saw Bruce send him a glance, but he was unprepared for the suggestion that came out of the man's mouth afterward. "Jason was just about to tell me something about Nona. It's probably information we could all use." He paused. "...Jason?"

He sputtered, unprepared to speak about his night before an audience of more than one. The presence of Tim and Damian, who knew what his initial reaction to their plea for help had been, was particularly bothersome. To tell them everything that he'd been about to tell Bruce would mean obliquely admitting that he'd been wrong.

Then again, he supposed he'd already done that just by virtue of showing up.

Before he could resolve himself one way or the other, Alfred bought him a little time. "Master Damian makes a good point about our location. This is hardly the most appropriate place in which to wait for news or to process an important story. Why don't we move down into the living room to hear Master Jason's tale? We'll be far more comfortable, and Mr. J'onzz will have fewer potential distractions close by while he works."

Bruce tried to object, but the butler's argument that so many active minds working a few feet away might hamper the Martian's progress was sufficient to convince him. Jason felt a giddy nervousness rising in his chest as Alfred and Barbara headed away towards the elevator and the rest of them turned towards the stairs. He had thought he would never see the inside of the Manor, where so many of his few good memories had been set, again. And yet here he was, running his fingertips along the perfectly smooth wood handrail, appreciating the way the early afternoon sunlight was beginning to brighten the foyer, and then, finally, sinking down into a deep leather chair.

He hadn't known just how exhausted he was until the seat took him into its embrace and reminded him what home felt like. Had it not been for the arrival of the other two, he might have been in danger of dozing off in the impatient quiet of the room. Alfred's voice broke into his tiredness, chasing it back with a subtle demand for answers. "Well, then, Master Jason...we're all ears."

"Right," he sighed, resigning himself to the inevitable telling of the story. For a moment he struggled to sit up, thinking that he could better control the story from a more wakeful posture. Eventually he gave up, though, and sank back once more. "...I guess I might as well start with Nona murdering Nate Westing. Just hold your questions, okay?" he added quickly as several jaws dropped. "It will make way more sense if I just tell it how it happened..."

He didn't know how long it took him to get through his recounting of the previous night's events. A glass of lemonade appeared at his elbow at one point, and he drank it gratefully. The beverage was everything he'd remembered it being, and that fact made him want to cry. Instead he dove back into his story, carefully excising anything that struck too close to home or revealed how he had felt. Only when Nona had walked away from him and disappeared did he stop speaking.

"...That's everything," he said bluntly when no one removed their attention from him. Marco and Dino and the dream that had followed them were his, and his alone; he would not share them with this group for anything. Besides, they were unnecessary. He had wanted to tell Bruce about Nona, and that was what he had done. He had nothing more to give them.

"So she tried to recruit you?" Tim ventured.

"Yes."

"And you told her no, or...?"

"I didn't tell her anything. I just..."

"You just came here," Damian finished for him. "...But why?"

"Damian," Bruce warned.

"No, Father. This is important." The boy caught Jason's gaze and held it. "Why did you come here instead of going to her? She offered you the revenge you've always wanted-"

"_Damian!_"

"-but you blew your chances for that by telling us everything. _Why? _Why would you do that when we can't give you anything close to what she put on the table?"

_You have no idea what you can give me that Nona never could_. He thought the words, but he didn't speak them. "I don't like the idea of Gotham being under her control," he replied after a brief pause. "She's more dangerous in some ways than the Joker has ever been. He's a terrorist, but she's a conqueror. She's already managed to slip through the city walls; she needs to be rooted out before she becomes too much of a rallying point for the criminals who want to be led by someone with a vision."

"…That bitch," Barbara growled suddenly. "What I wouldn't give to get my hands on her."

"You and me both," Tim concurred. "...Do you think the Joker knows that she's undermining him?"

"She walks around as if she thinks he doesn't," Jason said. "She was on a mission for him last night, or at least that's what she said, but she told me everything I just told you in an open alleyway where the Joker has been known to have informants before."

"Well, she'd already made one mistake," Bruce entered the conversation. "Maybe that was just another."

"...What was the first mistake?" Damian frowned.

"Trying to recruit Master Jason, of course, Master Damian," Alfred said. "She ought to have known that he wouldn't support a regime change of the sort she seems to be trying for."

The youth arched an eyebrow suspiciously. "And you really didn't tell her that you wouldn't join her?" he shot at Jason.

"No. She told me to think about it and get back to her."

"Good," Bruce nodded. His gaze had hardened as he'd listened to the story, and now he leaned forward with the air of a general arranging his troops for battle. "That gives us an opening."

"...An opening?" Jason repeated.

"Yes. Provided that you're willing to play double agent, that is."

"Whoa..." He held up his hands. "Hold on. Just...hold on." He had never suggested that Red Hood might start blatantly working with Batman, and yet here was Bruce assuming as much. But then what else was the man supposed to think? He'd come tumbling into the house without warning, helped Dick as much as he could, and then given away inside information on one of their mutual enemy's lieutenants. His actions had crossed into mask territory without him realizing as much, and now it would be impossible to extricate himself without hurting the billionaire's feelings. More importantly, Bruce was right – Nona's recruitment attempt was the perfect opening, and Red Hood was the only one who could exploit it. It was no good to do so by himself, however; he needed a team if he was going to bring down the would-be mistress of Gotham.

"…If I do this," he said slowly, "it could throw a lot of my own…arrangements…out of balance. I don't want to risk everything I've built up and then end up left out in the cold." _I don't want to be alone,_ he kept to himself.

"You won't be," Bruce swore. "Jason…you won't be. I promise. We'll figure it out."

Jason looked towards Tim and Damian, then back at Bruce. "…You're _sure_?"

Bruce opened his mouth to reply, but Tim beat him to the punch. "It's a big city, Jason," he said quietly. "Even with the four of us in the field and Oracle in the cave we get overstretched sometimes. Another set of hands…it wouldn't exactly be a bad thing to have around."

Damian sent Tim a disbelieving look. Bruce appeared to struggle to keep his mouth from trembling as Barbara let a hopeful grin come onto hers. Even Alfred's usual stoicism had been breached, leaving his eyes glimmering with unshed tears. Jason saw all of their reactions and was struck again by how much he had missed out on these past few years. He had no interest in saying as much – speaking at all just then didn't feel like something he could safely manage – but fortunately they were interrupted before the silence that followed Tim's comments could become awkward.

"Excuse me," J'onn's voice reached them from the doorway. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I thought you would want to know as soon as I was done."

"J'onn…" All of the anxious worry over Dick that the billionaire had temporarily bottled up while they'd been discussing Nona came rushing back onto his face. He stood up, wringing his hands. "How is he?"

The Martian smiled, and the tension in the room relaxed instantly. "Remarkable, Bruce," he answered. His gaze traveled around their familial assembly, resting first on Jason, then on Tim, and finally on Damian before flickering back to Bruce. "But I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything less from any son of yours."


	28. Chapter 28

Dick laid between the crisp sheets he had dreamed about so vividly an hour before and stared up at the ceiling. Taking in the plaster whorls above him, he smiled. He remembered them now, every single one of them, and he trusted what J'onn had said about that being all but a miracle. _I'm home, _he sighed to himself as he closed his eyes. _Home and safe._

The last thing he recalled was watching Red Hood swing away into the night following their short meeting. The Martian had given him a very basic outline of what had happened after that, but it was all news to Dick. He supposed he must have woken up in the silent room, begun to lose his grasp on his sanity, and made the conscious decision to barricade himself behind every wall that he could throw up. That was what J'onn suspected, at least, and he had neither memories nor solid evidence to the contrary.

Grimacing, he pushed the past out of his mind. He'd been advised not to go looking for those lost days in the chamber until he was completely recovered and ready to deal with the heavy emotions they were likely to inspire. It was a prescription he was happy to take for now, especially since there was so much to look forward to in the immediate future. His brain had insisted that his ears were broken when J'onn had said that Jason was in the house, and even after hearing the words twice he didn't quite dare to believe it. The Martian hadn't elucidated on _why_ Jason had chosen now to come home, but Dick didn't really care. All that mattered was that there was a chance for his family to finally be whole again.

Impatience flooded him without warning. J'onn had left ten minutes before to fetch the others, and yet there wasn't so much as a whisper from the hall. He couldn't imagine what the holdup was, but he was determined to find out. He'd already spent years longing for the day when all three of his brothers would stand beneath this roof together, and now that his daydream had become reality he wanted to see for himself. Alfred and Bruce would be upset at him for getting up with a fever, he knew, but they would just have to deal. As soon as he saw Jay and Timmy and Dami sitting in the same room and not trying to murder one another, he'd come right back to bed without so much as a whimper.

"...I don't think you're supposed to be doing that," a voice spoke from the doorway just as he levered himself into a half-sitting position.

The shape of his chamber prevented him from seeing the speaker, but he'd know that voice anywhere. Falling back to his pillows, he stretched out his good hand. "...C'mere, little brother," he requested quietly.

Jason emerged from the shadows hesitantly. "Are you you again?" he asked.

"Jay, seeing you standing in my bedroom makes me feel more me than I have in a very long time." Dick smiled shakily. "You _are_ real, right? You're not some wishful fever dream?"

"...No. I'm...I'm real." He approached the bed then, gripping Dick's hand once he was close enough. "Jesus, you're still boiling," he frowned as their palms met.

"J'onn said it will take my body a couple hours to catch up with my head, that's all. I'm okay." He tugged him downward. "Sit for a minute, huh? Let's talk a bit."

Once Jason was seated on the edge of the mattress Dick realized that there was a question burning in his gaze. "What's up, Jay?"

"…It's nothing, Dick. Don't worry about it."

"I've never known nothing to make you look like you do right now. Do you want to try that again?"

Jason looked away for a long moment. When he turned back there was a hopeful spark in his eyes that Dick could only remember having seen a few times before. "Do you...do you remember _anything_ about since you were kidnapped? Anything at all?"

He had to shake his head. "I don't, and J'onn says I shouldn't try to yet. He told me you were a huge help in getting me to this point, though." He sent him a smile, but it wasn't returned. "...You know...if there's something you were hoping that I _did_ remember, I'm sure you can tell me what it is. It probably won't hurt anything if it's a good memory."

The extra light in the younger man's expression faded away. "...No," he refused with a half-suppressed sigh. "It's nothing."

"I don't believe that, little brother. C'mon, you know you can tell me anything. That's never changed. Don't keep it inside and let it upset you."

"I'm not upset," Jason countered sharply.

Recognizing the warning tone in his voice, Dick backed off. "...Okay. Well...if you change your mind, you know where I am." He paused. "...Have you seen Bruce?"

"Yeah."

When that was all that was said, he pressed on. "It must not have been too bad of an encounter, since you're still here and you're not complaining about him," he tried.

"To be honest, Dick, we were both too busy being worried about you to get into much of anything else. But...I guess he hasn't been as bad as I always thought he would be if I ever...you know...came back."

Dick bit his lip. He desperately wanted to verify what Jason seemed to be implying, but the topic was too sensitive to withstand the force of full-strength words. "Does that mean that you're staying?" he whispered instead.

"Staying…staying would be too much right now. I mean, I'm not going to sleep here or anything like that. But I want a piece of the person who put you in that room." Jason bristled, then calmed when Dick squeezed his fingers. "I've sort of half-agreed to work with Batman on that."

"Aw, Jay..." Red Hood working with Batman; it was almost unimaginable, and yet it was everything he'd dreamed of for so long now. He had to sniffle before he could speak again. "...You're the best, do you know that?"

"No. If I was the best you wouldn't have been kidnapped in the middle of my own goddamn territory."

"Hey, hey, hey," he frowned. "That's not your fault. Not even Batman knows where everyone is all the time on his turf. That's impossible." Guilt lingered in his brother's posture, so he continued. "I don't blame you, Jason," he swore. "And if anyone else does, you send them to me. I might only have one functional arm right now, but I'll straighten them out."

Jason turned to face him fully, and now Dick could see that his mouth was trembling. It was obvious what the other man wanted, but he knew he'd never ask for it. That being the case, he brokered an invitation. "Come down here, would you? I think we've both earned a hug."

He didn't have to push beyond that offer, and that by itself told him just how shaken up Jason was. There was no way for him to pinpoint the exact cause of his sibling's distress without knowing the details of what had occurred while he was out of service, but he could imagine the maelstrom of feelings that must be involved. "...It's okay," he murmured to the cool, damp face that had buried itself against his uninjured shoulder. "It's okay now. We're home. We're okay."

"...I missed you..."

He wasn't just referring to the last few days, and Dick knew it. Years had been lost to foolish stubbornness, and it seemed that Jason was finally feeling the weight of that tragedy. Dick's heart wept with sorrow for his wayward little brother at the same time that it swelled with pride at whatever personal breakthrough had allowed him to finally come home. "I missed you too," he answered sincerely. "So much."

Jason eventually straightened, swiping at his cheeks and looking sheepish. "...I should probably go get Bruce," he muttered. "I thought his head was going to explode when J'onn said you wanted to see me first and not him."

"I had to make sure you were real. But now…now I want Tim, if you don't mind relaying the message." A beat passed. "...I'm so glad you came home, Jay. I know it was incredibly difficult, and I know it's not going to be perfect sailing up ahead, but...just stick it out, okay? We'll make it work. Together we can do anything, right?"

It was an old mantra, one they had used to buck themselves up when they'd been running the streets together as Nightwing and Robin, and to Dick's joy it made Jason smile. "Civilian things are harder than mask things," the younger man mused aloud.

"Not harder," he corrected gently. "Just different. But you don't have to deal with them all alone any more, and that automatically makes them easier. Right?"

Their eyes met, and for an instant Dick would have sworn he saw that little flame of hope flicker back into life. After a moment Jason nodded. "...Right."

* * *

><p>Tim required no cajoling to come forward from the doorway. No sooner had he entered the room than he was crossing it in double-time. Occupying the same spot Jason had left only minutes before, he leaned forward and wrapped Dick in a tight embrace. "...God, I'm glad you're better," he whispered thickly.<p>

"Me too, Timmy," Dick agreed. "Me, too."

They separated after a long, silent minute. It was Tim who broke the silence, giving out a long sigh. "...I think you're hurting Bruce's feelings."

"Because I asked to see you and Jason before him?"

"Yeah. He looked a little upset when Jason came up, but I thought he was going to cry when he heard that I was next."

_Oh, Bruce..._ The last thing he wanted to do was further wound the billionaire, whom he knew was already going to be in emotional tatters over the ordeals of the last week. At the same time, though, he didn't particularly want to have an audience while he greeted the other members of his family. Experience told him that there was no way his surrogate father was going to be convinced to leave his side for several hours at least, so he was forced to save him for the end in the interest of having a little privacy with the others. "He's going to be very unhappy, then," he winced. "I plan on asking for him after everyone else."

"You'll be lucky if he waits another three minutes, let alone through another three people."

"I guess you'd better hurry up and tell me anything that you don't want him to overhear, then," Dick made a weak joke.

"Yeah..." Time trailed off. "...Hey, Dick?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"J'onn said you're not supposed to try and bring up stuff from the last few days just yet, but…how did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Get out of your own head. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that you did," he raised his hands in a show of innocence, "and I don't want you to hurt yourself if you don't remember, but…you're just so different now than you were an hour ago. I don't understand it."

"I don't really remember much," Dick confessed, "but if I put together what J'onn told me and what little I _do_ have of waking up I would say it was several factors. Being home helped a lot, I guess, even though I don't think I recognized anything or anybody. It must have just been something subconscious, that...that safe feeling you get, you know?" Tim nodded. "Jason was a big part of it too, apparently, but that makes sense. Him actually coming home of his own accord…" He shook his head. "Well, that's enough to shock anybody back into their senses, right?"

"Mmm…I'm just glad he listened to us," Tim remarked. "I don't know what we would have done about you if he hadn't come."

Dick's lips turned down. "Wait…listened to you? What do you mean?" Carried away by his curiosity, he tried to sit up again. "Do you know why he came home? J'onn didn't say, and I was afraid I'd scare Jay away if I asked him straight out…"

"Whoa," Tim said, holding him down easily with one hand. "Stay down there. You're not supposed to be up. As for Jason…I have an idea of why he came back, but I don't know if it's the whole story. Anyway…" His face grew bashful. "…Damian and I went out to Hood's territory last night and…well…we pretty much begged him to come home and see if he could help you."

Simultaneously baffled and overwhelmed, Dick gaped at his brother. "Timmy…now _I _don't understand. Neither of you _ever_ go into Hood's zone. What did you think that Jason could do that you and Dami and everyone else couldn't?" Obviously it had worked, whatever it was, but he still wanted to hear the details.

"I just thought he could commiserate with you on a level that we couldn't," Tim shrugged. "I mean, you were in an anechoic chamber. In the dark, and the silence. And I thought…well…isn't the closest thing to that a grave? And Jason…well, it made sense."

"…Oh, Timmy," Dick moaned. "My brave, clever little Timmy." Holding back tears, he tugged him down into another hug. His brothers had literally risked life and limb in order to play a hunch that might very well not have worked, all in the hopes of restoring him to himself. As if that wasn't enough, their efforts had not only made him whole again but had given their family a chance to be the same way. "There goes that brain of yours, saving the day again," he laughed through the wet streams he could no longer control.

When they'd parted again, Tim pressed for more information about his recovery. "So did you know J'onn was there? In your head, I mean?"

"I…" He narrowed his eyes, thinking hard. He was playing with fire trying to remember such things so soon, but Tim had done so much for him of late that he wanted to give him something back. "…I didn't at first, I don't think," he said finally. "The first thing that happened after the night I was kidnapped, though, was that I realized he was nearby. I was still unconscious, obviously, and…you know how when you're sick sometimes you get that feeling like you're locked inside your own head and you can't get out? Like you want to move and talk, but you don't have the energy or the control?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Is that what it was like?"

"Yeah. The part I remember, at least. Anyway, so I was trapped in there, trying to figure out how to break free, and I just heard, like, a whisper." It had taken him several minutes to realize that the voice was one he knew. Once he'd made that connection it had been a quick leap to identify it as belonging to an ally, someone he could trust. Only then had the whispered words become clear in his mind. "He told me to break down the walls. I had no idea what he was talking about, but I started repeating him. Break down the walls, break down the walls…

"I guess that must have been enough to help, because I kept hearing him louder and louder. There was this one second after we broke into the same…I don't know, the same area of my mind, maybe…when he was just mentally overpowering. I mean, I've had J'onn in my head before, but I've never felt him using so much strength." It had been like looking into the sun, he recalled, only without the pain that was usually inseparable from such an action. "…It was amazing. You don't realize just how powerful he is until he really lets loose. It's like with Superman. You wouldn't know he could punch an asteroid into smithereens unless you'd seen him do it, you know? I mean, you'd know, but you wouldn't _know_. You know?

"But after that I go blank again. I get the sense that J'onn knocked me out after we ran into each other. He said there was a lot of stuff he had to, uh…to put back where it belonged." He shivered involuntarily. "Guess I went a little more crazy than he was comfortable with. But then I woke up for real, and he told me Jay was here, and…and…" Grabbing Tim's hand once more, he squeezed hard. "I can never thank you enough for being who you are, Timmy," he breathed. "You made this happen. Me being back, Jay being here…it's thanks to you, and to Dami, too." Sniffing, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I wouldn't be anything without my little brothers. I want you to know that."

Tim stared at him for a long moment, blinking rapidly. "…Hey, Dick?" he choked out.

"Yeah, Timmy?"

"I know how you can pay me back."

"How's that?"

"Don't ever, _ever_ scare me like this again. If Jason hadn't come, or if his coming hadn't worked…there are a hundred ways that I might never have gotten you back. That's not a prospect I ever want to find myself face to face with after today."

"Two summers in a row is enough, huh?"

"Beyond my limit, Dick. Way beyond it."

He smiled through his fresh tears. "…You just keep on being Timmy, Timmy, and I'll do my very best to hold up my end of the deal. Okay?"

Tim smiled back weakly. "Okay, Dick. Deal."


	29. Chapter 29

**Author's Note: My apologies for the lack of a chapter on Sunday. I spent the entire weekend prepping several of my original pieces for a competition, and as such did not have time to write any fanfic. But here's a nice long chapter full of brotherly fluff and a little Dick/Babs steam to make up for it. :D**

* * *

><p>Dick had fully expected his that youngest brother would come pelting into the room and all but dive for a hug. Consequently, it vexed him when the teen stopped several feet short of the bed and just stared at him. He'd adopted a similar stance to the one that he had taken the summer before, when they'd greeted each other after the downfall of Tracy Collins, but Dick couldn't fathom why that should be. They had exchanged no heated words before parting this time, and the boy was getting better and better at expressing his emotions instead of bottling them up. There was no reason for him to have halted so far away. "...Dami? What's up?"<p>

"I..." His mouth worked. "I just want to be certain that you're really _you _before I come any closer."

Dick smiled. "I'm me, little brother. I might not remember the last few days, but I'm me."

Oddly, the news that he had no recollection of the past week seemed to make Damian relax. His probing gaze bored into Dick for a long moment. "...You don't remember _anything_?" he asked.

"Not really, no. Tim helped me remember some stuff from right before I woke up, but other than that I'm a blank slate. Although it's funny..." His eyebrows knitted as he drew a connection between two of his siblings. "You and Jason asked me almost the exact same thing." If felt like Damian was trying to ask about a particular event without saying what that event was, and looking back he realized that Jason's question had carried the same tone. "...Is there something I should know about?"

"No," the teen said too quickly. "There's not."

"Hmm..." He knew it was a lie, but he would have time to explore it later. Pressing Jason for answers had been a necessity, since there was no guarantee that the man would stay. Damian wasn't going anywhere, though, and that meant he could let sleeping dogs lie for the time being. "Well then come up here and give me a hug, would you? I missed my baby bro, and from what Tim told me I owe you a big thank you."

His idea about being able to wait to pry into what was bothering the youth was dispelled the moment Damian stepped into the low light of the bedside lamp. A lurid bruise stretched across his cheek, shining deep purple where knuckles had applied the greatest force and fading into paler shades of plum as it spread out. "Dami," Dick breathed, reaching out to grip his chin and examine the injury. "...What happened?"

"Um...Red Hood hit me last night." Damian tried half-heartedly to pull away. "That's all."

Again he sensed that he was missing some key piece of information. "Hit you? For what?"

"For something I said. And because he's an idiot. It's nothing."

Jason had insisted the same thing – _it's nothing – _and Dick didn't believe it of his third brother any more than he had of his first. "Dami," he frowned, "I feel like you're hiding something from me."

"I said it's nothing, Grayson!"

But there was a trace of panic in his expression, and his eyes were darting about as if they were searching for something new to talk about. Twenty minutes earlier Dick had been grateful to J'onn for locking away the certainly awful details of his imprisonment in the silent room; now he wished the Martian had left them in place. It would be worth the post-traumatic stress if he could just know what it was that was bothering his family.

A terrible idea struck him. If a person spent days locked in a perfectly dark, perfectly soundless room, and was then suddenly removed from it, how might they react? He had apparently been so disturbed by the place that he had barricaded himself in his own mind. Cut off like that, would he have had control of his own body? Would he have recognized his rescuers and greeted them as such, or might he have lashed out in confusion and anger? There was no doubt in his mind that Robin had been present when he'd been freed from the chamber, and Jason...Jason was a very convenient scapegoat. "Did _I_ hit you?" he breathed.

Damian jumped, his eyes going wide. "No!" he protested.

"Dami-"

"You didn't leave this bruise, Dick! Hood did! I told you!"

The teen's hand had risen to his face, but it didn't cover his discolored cheek. Instead it hovered over his nose, which a closer look revealed to be slightly swollen. Dick's frown morphed into a pout as he realized that his awful suspicion was true. "But that's not what I asked you, little brother," he said sadly.

A beat passed. Then Damian seemed to fall in on himself, doubling over as tears poured down his abused face. "Why-did-you-_do_-that?!" he cried, his voice hitching with every word. "I was just...I just trying to _help_!"

Dick's jaw dropped. For Damian to be mad at him for the blow was one thing, but a complete breakdown was something else entirely. Wrenching himself up, he reached out with his good hand and clawed the boy into his grasp. "Oh, Dami...baby bird...c'mere..."

Damian clung to him even as he launched more accusations. "You...you _hit_ me," he moaned. "Why'd you do that, Grayson? Why did you do that when I...when I lo-..._why?!"_

"Shh...hush. Hush. I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, Dami. I...I can't have known it was you. I would never hurt you, you know that. I would _never_ hurt you. I love you, little brother; I didn't mean to hit you. I swear, I didn't mean it...I'm so sorry…"

The teen's sorrow gradually receded, but Dick's remained. If he had punched _Damian,_ of all people, what else had he done during those missing hours? Tim, it seemed, had evaded his wrath – he couldn't imagine the cautious younger man striding right up to him earlier if that wasn't the case – but Jason had been struggling with something. Was there an apology to be made in that quarter as well? And his brothers only accounted for half of the people who J'onn said had been with him since his rescue; what if he had hit one of the others, too?

"...Dick?"

He looked down. "Forgive me, Dami," he begged. "Please. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I...I know. It just...it was scary, okay? I know you wouldn't do that, so when you did..." The teen shivered. "...I just wanted you back. I thought we _had_ you back, but…but you weren't there…"

"I know. I'm back now, though. It's okay now. But tell me...I _really_ didn't make that bruise, right? You're not just saying that to make me feel better?" He dreaded the answer, but he had to know.

Damian shook his head. "You didn't. It...you just gave me a bloody nose. Red Hood did the bruise. I mean, yours hurt way worse, but…"

"I know," he squeezed him again. "I know. I'm so sorry…" Neither spoke for a moment. "...So Jason hit you, then showed up at the house a few hours later? That's…odd. What did you say to him?"

"It...look, it doesn't matter, okay? I was trying to get him to come help, that's all. I don't know if what I said made a difference or not, but...but I'd say it again if I had to. I don't care about the bruise. All right?"

"Okay, Dami. So long as you forgive me and you're okay now, then it's all all right. But...um..." He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to prepare himself for what he needed to ask. "Did I...I mean...was I mean to anyone else? I didn't hit anybody other than you, did I? Or...or say something I usually wouldn't?" It was far too easy to imagine his deranged self breaking up with Barbara, whom he had chased for so very long and worked so hard to get, or blaming Bruce or Alfred for the torture he'd undergone because of the mask they had allowed him to have so many years ago. Neither were things he would ever dream of doing normally, but then he had never thought he could be compelled to strike his beloved Damian, either.

His fear lessened with the boy's next words. "No. I don't think so. If you did no one's mentioned it. The only thing is that Father's tearing his hair out downstairs because you keep calling people other than him."

Fresh guilt washed over him. "I know, but J'onn said I should start off with just one or two people at a time until I know how well I can handle a lot of noise and movement." It seemed that he came up with a new excuse every time someone mentioned Bruce's despair, but he couldn't help it. What he'd told Tim a short while before was true; he wanted a few minutes of privacy with everyone, not just with the billionaire, and it didn't seem fair to make everyone else wait days until Bruce could stand to pull himself away. He explained as much again now despite knowing that Damian hadn't been looking for an explanation.

"...Well, he'll forgive you for it," the teen said when he'd finished speaking. "He always does." With that he stood, walked to the desk, and dried his eyes with a tissue. Turning back to face the bed, he crossed his arms in a silent inquiry.

"You don't look like you've been crying nearly as much as you actually did," Dick assured him.

"Good." The boy paused. "...Who do you want me to send up, if not Father?"

"Better make it Babs." He was likely to receive a mild-to-moderate lecture from Alfred in regards to saving Bruce for the end, and he knew that it would break his determination. If he saw Barbara first, he could get through the group in the way he'd planned. "But Dami?" he called as his brother headed for the door.

"...Yes?"

"I haven't forgotten about our trip. I'm still looking forward to it." It was fouled up for this summer – by the time he was recovered enough to deal with crowds, sunlight, and loud noises it would be too close to the start of school for the youth to come along – but they'd get to it. They had to; he'd promised his little brothers.

"But we can't go now," Damian rebutted. "You're hurt, and we still have to deal with the Joker and keep Nona from taking over the city. We can't go."

"We'll go next-" He broke off, frowning as he processed what had just been said. "...Wait, what? Who's Nona?" How could someone he'd never heard of have any chance of taking over Gotham? He'd been out for less than a week, he puzzled; there was no way the balance of power had shifted so drastically in that amount of time, at least not so long as both the Joker and Batman still existed.

"She's..." Damian hesitated. "Look, don't worry about her. We can handle it."

"Dami, you just said she's trying to take over our city. How am I supposed to _not_ worry, especially when I can't patrol with you?"

"You just _can't, _okay?!" His eyes went wild momentarily. "I don't want...I'm not going to be the one who tells you too much and turns you back into whatever you were before, Grayson. I won't do it, so don't ask."

Dick gave in. "...Okay," he nodded. "Okay. I understand." He couldn't blame the kid for not wanting him to morph back into the person who had hit him. "That's not going to happen, though. Backsliding, I mean. I'm here to stay."

Damian blinked twice. "You'd better be, Grayson," he whispered, his tone full of threat and tears. "...I'll get Gordon for you."

"Great. And Dami?"

"What?"

"I love you. I just wanted to make sure you still know that."

The boy's lips curved into one of his rare legitimate smiles. "...I know, Grayson. And, uh...thanks. I...thanks." Mumbling the last, he ducked his head and rushed out into the hall.

Dick stared after him. "Thanks to you, little brother," he murmured. "Thanks to you, too."

* * *

><p>One of the marvelous things about his relationship with Barbara was that in the most trying of moments it didn't require much speech. It was similar in that way to his connection with Bruce, and was a large part of the reason that he knew they were meant to share their lives. As such, only three words left his mouth when the woman rolled into his bedroom a short while after Damian's hasty departure. "...Hey, pretty lady."<p>

She looked sad rather than elated at his greeting, and he gathered that she had had moments of doubt as to whether she would ever again be addressed in such a fashion. He beckoned her to him, inviting her to occupy the nook in his shoulder that each of his siblings had used in turn. She didn't hesitate to come forward and heave herself up onto the bed. Her choice of positioning when she finally laid down was different than that of the others, but he didn't mind. The weight of her head on his chest was pleasant even if it kept him from seeing her face, and the arm she had curved possessively around his waist told him exactly how much she had missed him. He had scared her, he gulped, had truly and thoroughly given her a fright. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Barbara looked up at him. Shaking her head, she pushed herself up and reached for his face. Their lips lingered, exchanging slow kisses one after another in a re-affirmation of their bond. She wasn't mad at him, he translated, just relieved that he was himself again. He smiled and brushed a lock of her long hair back behind her ear. God, how he'd missed her, had wanted her without even realizing it...

Before he could get carried away and take things further than either of them really had the energy to go, she gave a pleased hum and turned away again. Her ear reclaimed its spot just above his heart, her fingers curled against his side once more, and he sighed, almost wholly content. If only he could put what Damian had said about that Nona person out of his mind...

He stroked Barbara's hair gently, trying not to give away the fact that he was no longer completely focused on her presence. Something betrayed him despite his efforts – the quickening his pulse did when he thought about an imminent takeover attempt, perhaps, or the way his grip tightened whenever the Joker's name floated back into his stream of consciousness – and the woman draped over him gave a permissive little snort. "You never change," she teased.

"Sorry." He didn't mean to make her feel ignored – god knew he wanted to do the exact opposite of that – but his city was under threat and he didn't even know the basics of the situation. As much as he longed to lay here with her in ignorant bliss forever, he needed to know what was going on in the outside world. "Can't help it."

"I know. It's okay; it's just who you are."

"Still love me?" He meant it as a half-joke, but her answer was completely serious.

"Yes. I do. That's not in danger."

She had never spoken quite so absolutely about her feelings for him before, and hearing something like an oath in her tone now made Dick shiver happily. She squeezed him tighter in response, and they lapsed back into silence. He toyed briefly with the idea of asking her to tell him what Damian would not, but after a moment he dismissed it. She would permit him to think about night work while they were in bed together like this, but the moment they began to talk about it she would pull away and sit up beside him. Her hand might rest on his elbow, but that would be the extent of their physical contact so long as they were discussing masks. It was a quirk of hers, and normally he didn't mind it, but right now he needed her close. Despite his growing impatience, he was just going to have to wait.

But it wasn't half-bad, waiting like this. The pressure of her lying partially on top of him forced him to work a bit harder to draw air, but he was still comfortable. After a while she slipped her hand under his shirt and laid it against his heated skin, sliding it up until she could pillow her cheek on her fingers. The combination of slower breathing and the woman's cool touch lulled him into a haze somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, and his eyelids slipped shut.

Just before he passed over the threshold completely, she withdrew. "Mmph," he complained.

"You'll be upset with yourself later if you go to sleep without seeing Alfred and Bruce," she chided gently. "I'd be fine with a nap otherwise, but you'll wake up feeling awful."

She was right, and he knew it. He looked up just as a _thunk_ reported that she'd returned to her chair. "...Okay, pretty lady," he agreed. "You win."

"Yeah. I did win." She squeezed his fingers. "Who do you want? Alfred?"

He grinned. "You read my mind. Been taking lessons?"

"I've had a lot of lessons lately. I guess that was one of them."

"Good. Keeps me from having to say all the dirty stuff I want to do out loud."

"Save the dirty stuff, mister." Smiling amusedly, she backed up and swiveled to face the door. "...We've got plenty of time for that."

"Good," he called after her. "I'm looking forward to it."

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Me, too," she winked.

"See you later, pretty lady." She vanished with a wave, and he spoke quickly to make sure that she could hear his last words. He pretended to be talking to himself, but every syllable was meant for her ears. "…God, how I love that girl…"

Another pleased hum sounded, and a moment later she was gone.


	30. Chapter 30

Dick drifted while he waited for the door to open again. When it did, he cracked his eyelids to find Alfred approaching the bed. The butler wore an expression of mingled relief and chastisement which Dick was unfortunately very familiar with, and the sight of it made him sigh. Only when that look vanished would everything be truly all right again, and the vehemence with which Damian had refused to tell him what was going on suggested that it would be some time before that happened.

The mattress sank down beside him as a cool palm cupped his forehead. "How are you feeling, Master Dick?" a gentle question came.

"Tired," he confessed. "Ridiculously tired."

"I suppose that's to be expected, considering things." He paused, then frowned. "You're still very warm...you aren't nauseated or anything like that, are you?"

"No," Dick smiled back reassuringly. "Just tired. The fever's okay; J'onn said it would go away before too much longer."

"Yes, he told me the same thing. Nevertheless, I see no reason not to try and help it on its way. Give me a moment, hmm?" Rising without waiting for an answer, he circled the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

The sound of running water reached Dick, and he realized suddenly that he was thirsty. He opened his mouth to call out a request for refreshment, but Alfred beat him to the punch by appearing back in the doorway with a damp cloth in one hand and a full glass in the other. A moment later both items were on the nightstand and Dick was being helped into a sitting position. "Here," the butler said, pressing the drink towards him as soon as he was upright. "I'm sure you must be dehydrated. You've barely had anything since you came home, and who knows what you were given while you were gone."

"...Ugh, that was amazing," he gasped as he drained the liquid in one long gulp.

"I'll bring you more once that's had a little time to settle. In the meantime, though, you ought to lie back down."

A few seconds later Dick was flat on his back again. The chilled rag brushed down his cheeks and throat, and he closed his eyes with a tiny moan. Only when the fabric was folded into thirds and draped above his eyebrows did he look up. "...Thanks, Alfred." His smile sharpened into a wry grin. "You going to yell at me now?"

"I don't recall the last time you gave me reason to yell, Master Dick," the butler replied, his mouth twitching upward at the corners. "But I'm afraid I must protest your decision to see everyone else before Master Wayne."

"I know, but that's the thing; I wanted to actually _see_ everyone else. You know he won't leave once he's in here. I don't mind, but some people might not be comfortable being...well, _themselves_ when he's sitting in the same room."

"I'm well aware, young sir. I'm not lecturing you for your choice, I'm merely expressing my personal discontent with it. It was the logical one to make, yes, and perhaps the kinder one overall, but it's rather painful to see him looking as dejected as he did a few minutes ago."

Dick felt a fresh wince of guilt run through him. "I'm not trying to hurt his feelings, Alfred. He has to know that."

"I'm sure he does, deep down. We both know that soul-searching isn't his strong suit at the best of times, though, let alone when he's consumed with worry, frustration, and exhaustion."

"Yeah..."

A brief silence hung between them until Alfred changed the subject. "Well. I didn't come up here to discuss Master Wayne. Mister J'onzz stated that he locked away your memories of the last few days; is that true?"

"He did. I kind of want them back, though."

"No," the butler shook his head. "Eventually you'll have no choice but to work through them, but this isn't the time, young sir. There's no point in risking anything while you're still recovering physically."

"I get that, but I want to know what's been going on." He shuffled his legs impatiently against the sheets. "Damian only hinted, I didn't dare bring it up with Babs..." His gaze slipped to Alfred. "...I don't suppose _you'll_ tell me who this Nona person is, and what she has to do with anything?"

"I will tell you nothing, Master Dick, except that she is someone you needn't worry about. Pouting will get you nowhere with me," he added as Dick automatically began to launch his usual offensive. "You know it never does when your safety is on the line."

"Gaaah," he groaned. "I just want to know what I've missed, Alfred! I can't stand the idea of the others going out after some enigma villain without me. What if they end up needing help?"

"Then you will stay safely abed and either Miss Barbara or I will call the League for assistance. You have a dislocated shoulder, a sprained wrist, numerous lacerations, and the end of a mild concussion, for heaven's sake; you're not going anywhere in a costume for several weeks, at least." The butler's mien had grown imperial as he'd laid down the law, but now it softened again. "...You've frightened the entire family quite enough for this year, young sir. Give a rest for a little while, I beg you."

It was clear that he wasn't going to get anywhere with Alfred, and there was no point in pushing the issue and making him worry more than he already was about things, so Dick dropped it. "All right," he gave in. "...All right. I'm sorry, I just..."

"It's just who you are?"

"...Right."

"I know, dear boy. I know. And I know who is partially to blame for that, as well." A faint smile ghosted across the older man's face. "Shall I get him for you now?"

Dick nodded. "Yeah. You probably should. I'm actually surprised he's waited this long." He'd been expecting an invasion ever since Tim had made his comment about Bruce waiting no more than three minutes more before barging in, but none had come. Maybe, he thought sadly, he really _had_ hurt Bruce's feelings by saving him for last. _I'm sorry. Don't be upset, Bruce. I love you..._

"I believe it's been a struggle for him – he was pacing quite restlessly for a while earlier – but he wanted to respect your wishes, I'm sure. Having his turn should help his attitude a great deal." His mouth quivered as he gripped Dick's hand tightly. "I must say, it has certainly helped mine. I can't tell you how glad I am that you have returned to us, Master Dick. And to have brought Master Jason with you, albeit in a roundabout and somewhat unpleasant fashion...well. You never fail to amaze me. I don't believe I've said that often enough thus far in your life, so I'll say it now." Pulling back after a final squeeze, he stood up. "...Do you need more water before I go?"

"...Nah," he refused, trying not to cry over the butler's words. "I'm okay. Thanks, though."

"Very well. Then I will see you in a little while. Get some rest until then, hmm?" And with that, he was gone.

Dick would have been shocked if many minutes had gone by before Bruce entered the room, but he was unprepared to hear the door opening almost as soon as it had closed. "...Alfred?" he called out. The older man must have forgotten something and come back to address it, he reasoned. "What's up?"

"It's...it's me, chum," a husky voice that very much did_not _belong to the butler reported. "Can I come in now?"

_...Oh, Bruce,_ Dick lamented silently. _I'm sorry._ The billionaire was standing out of sight, but there was no question that he was watching him in the mirror. How many years, he mused, had the glass hung in that exact spot? It couldn't have gone up terribly long after he'd become Robin, as its entire purpose had been to allow Bruce to check on him after weeknight patrols without disturbing his sleep. While it had long been unneeded for its original task, he had never taken it down. It reminded him of the wordless love that had been expressed by his surrogate father's willingness to put off sleep for long enough to glance in on him, and that was all the reason he needed to let it remain. Feeling as if his delay in summoning the man had been a poor repayment for those hundreds of nights, he called back to him. "Of course you can."

He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Bruce looking more heartsick than he did when he rounded the corner. Having been denied details he could only imagine the amount of energy that must have been expended in searching for him, but it was clear that most of it had been drawn from the billionaire's reserves. The fellow looked as if ten rough years had passed since they'd last spoken, and his hands trembled as they enveloped the one that had been held out in greeting. "...I'm sorry," Dick apologized miserably.

Bruce denied his guilt. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he insisted. He was blinking fast, struggling to keep the dampness gleaming in his eyes at bay. "Dick...you're not mad at me, are you?"

It was such an absurd inquiry that Dick nearly burst into confused laughter. "What?!" he managed instead. "No. Of course I'm not mad at you. Why would you think that?" Bruce just lowered his head and squeezed his fingers harder. "...Oh. It's because I left you for last, isn't it?" _Grayson, you're an idiot,_ he grimaced.

There were tears in the man's reply. "I thought it was like...like with Jason. I know that makes no sense, but you kept calling the others...I wanted to see you, but I didn't want to force my way in and piss you off..." His breath hitched. "I wasn't sure how things were, chum, and I didn't want to...to drive you away. Not...not when I finally have...have all of you here. _Never_, Dicky, never, but right now...if you _were_ mad...if you wanted to...to leave...I couldn't...I just _couldn't_..."

"Bruce, _stop_," Dick begged. "I'm not mad. I was never mad at you. I just know you, and I wanted a minute with the others without you peeking over their shoulders. I'm not mad," he repeated, tugging him closer. "Come here. I want a hug, and you're the only one who gives perfect ones."

The billionaire's bulk hit him, and for an instant he couldn't breathe. Then Bruce shifted, and he found himself being not the giver but the recipient of an embrace for the first time since he'd awakened. "Hush," he was ordered as he opened his mouth to speak. "If you're not mad at me, then just hush and let me hold you."

He didn't argue. His head was nestled against the same familiar shoulder that had soothed so many of his childhood fears, there were strong arms wrapped around him, and he knew that all he need do was ask for something in order to receive it. He might have been nine years old again, and that was the most comforting feeling in the world. Even if they hadn't been in the Manor, in that moment he would have been home.

"You're warm," Bruce remarked many minutes later. His fingers brushed over the washcloth that Alfred had plastered to Dick's forehead. "Do you want me to cool this down again for you?"

"No. It's okay," he whispered back. _Just stay here, _he thought. For all that he had wanted to see everyone else first, now that Bruce was with him he couldn't stand the idea of him leaving. "J'onn says it'll go away on its own."

"Good."

"...Bruce?"

"Yeah, chum?"

"Um...who's Nona?" It would be so easy to doze off like this, but he didn't want to fall asleep without hearing _something_ about the woman that Damian had mentioned. If anyone would understand his need to know as much as possible about a new threat to his city and his family, it was Bruce. Besides, how many times in the past had they hashed out a case or caught each other up on details while one of them was stuck in bed with an illness or an injury? This was old hat to them, and surely the billionaire would follow tradition.

"...I don't think I should tell you that," Bruce breathed.

"Why _not_?!" Dick protested, a hint of ire underlining his words. "Why won't _anyone_ tell me about this chick? It's not like she can be that much crazier than the Joker, so what gives?"

"She's not crazier than the Joker," a measured response came, "but she might be cleverer than he is."

_That _was news, and it gave him pause. "Wait, what? More clever than the Joker? You're kidding me."

"She seems to be preparing to take Gotham right out from under him, at least judging from what she told Jason, and from what we can tell he doesn't have a clue about it."

"Whoa..." His head was spinning. "But...what do you mean, 'what she told Jason'? Why would she spill something like that to him?"

"She..." Bruce hesitated. "I'm sorry, Dick, but I don't think I should tell you anything more right now."

"_What?! _Bruce, come on! You can't leave me hanging like this!"

"No. It comes too close to what happened while you were...away...and J'onn said we're not supposed to bring that up until you're ready."

"I'm ready. I can handle it, honest. Tell me," he pleaded. "Nona had something to do with the silent room, then?" The billionaire stiffened, and he knew he'd scored a point. "C'mon, Bruce, please!"

"No. No more, Dick. Stop. You need to rest."

"I can't rest when there's some crazy lady out there about to start a war for our city! You know that!" Determined to learn more, he struggled to sit up in order to better press his point. "Bruce...Ow!"

A gasp sounded at his cry. "Dick! What, what is it?"

"Ugh...it's nothing. It's okay," he groaned, sinking back against his pillows. "...My shoulder just pulled funny, that's all. It's...it's better now. Just give it a minute."

"Your shoulder..." Bruce's hand hovered over the damaged joint. "Oh, god...I hurt you again..."

"...Huh?" Dick couldn't help but notice the implication of that comment despite the waves of pain rolling down his arm. "What...no. You didn't hurt me."

"Yes, I did." Looking as if he was about to start crying again, the older man pulled away and stood up. "...I'll get Alfred to come look at it. Stay...stay here."

"Bruce?" Confused beyond belief, Dick stared up at him. "Wait...I don't understand. You _never_...I mean...you're not leaving?"

He didn't meet his eyes as he spoke. "I hurt you, Dick. I need to not do that. If I don't touch you right now, I can't hurt you."

That was ludicrous, and Dick was having none of it. "Hey, _stop!_" Stretching, he managed to grasp the man's wrist just before it swung out of range. "...Bruce, you walking out of here without telling me what's wrong is going to hurt me a lot more than that little twinge in my shoulder did," he told him seriously. "You don't usually want to leave me alone for _days_ after I get hurt, but this time you're going to walk out after fifteen, twenty minutes? What's going on with that? I thought I was the one who's screwed up right now, not you. Don't go, huh? I just wanted to know what's going on." His throat tightened. "...Don't leave me, Bruce. Please. Don't leave."

Bruce didn't say anything for the space of several breaths. Then he gripped Dick's wrist with his captured hand and let himself be pulled back to the bed. "...I shouldn't tell you this," he warned.

"It's fine, really!" _Anything,_ he thought eagerly. _Give me anything. Everything. __Something_...

"It's _not_ fine. And I'm _not_ telling you about Nona or anything else like that. But...I will tell you about your shoulder." A visible gulp ran through the billionaire's throat. "I_...I'm_ the one who dislocated your shoulder. It was me. I hurt you."

Dick shook his head slowly. "But..." Pieces clicked together in his head. Bruce wouldn't hurt him on purpose, he knew that, and that left only one possibility; self-defense. "Oh, god...I hit you, too. I hit you like I did Dami. Bruce-" _Forgive me, please, please forgive me..._

"You didn't hit me," the billionaire cut him off. "You tried to escape, that's all. It wasn't your fault. You were afraid of us, and you tried to escape, and I...I grabbed you wrong and held on too long. Those damn contortions of yours...I swear you have a new one every time I turn around. But it was my fault," he shared weakly. "I _did_ hurt you, Dick, you just didn't remember."

He still didn't remember it, not really, but he was certain that no matter how factual Bruce's explanation of the event had been the conclusion he was drawing from it was false. "...Bruce?"

"Yes?"

"You didn't hurt me."

"Yes I-"

"_No._" He spoke so forcefully that Bruce finally looked at him again. _"__You_ didn't hurt me. Whoever made me forget who you were – whoever made me run from you – _they_ hurt me. They hurt me, Bruce, not you. Never you. I know better than that. I might not have known it at the time, but I know it now. You never would," he swore, "and you didn't. Got it?"

The standing man's cheeks dampened with gratitude. "...Damn it, I'm crying again," he berated himself suddenly, swiping at the wet trails.

"I know a fix for that," Dick suggested. "Spoiler alert; it's another hug. Maybe we could try it without the drama this time, huh?"

Bruce stared at him for a moment, sniffling, and then nodded. "I won't start any if you won't, chum. Deal? Let it rest, okay?"

"Okay. Deal." _For now,_ he added in his head. The odds were good that no one would patrol tonight, anyway; they rarely did on the first night when one of their number returned, whether it be from a distant mission or a stint of unconsciousness. If they were all safe, he supposed he could wait a few more hours for his information. Tomorrow, though, he would try again, and again, and again. Somebody would yield, surely. "...You going to be mad at me if I fall asleep on you?"

"Have I ever been?" Bruce asked as he sat back down.

"No." He smiled the special smile that he kept only for the man settling in beside him. "Let's see if we can keep that record going, shall we?"

"Somehow," the billionaire sighed as he pulled him carefully close, "I don't think the streak's in any danger of being broken."

"Good," Dick mumbled, his eyes already half-shut as he snuggled back up against his living comfort blanket. The last sensation he had before the world faded away was that of his father whispering against his ear.

"...Sleep tight, baby. I'll be right here..."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: For those of you who enjoyed the one-a-day shorts series I did to count down to Christmas last year, 'A Counting of Days', I have some good news. I'll be doing the same thing this year, but of course with new stories. The new set will be entitled 'A Second Counting of Days', and will begin on 1 December. It will be updated daily through Christmas Day. Check out my blog tomorrow for a few sneak peeks!<strong>


	31. Chapter 31

Despite having gotten virtually no sleep the night before, Jason refused to take any rest at the Manor. Physically and emotionally drained, he departed as soon as it was clear that the nap Dick was taking in Bruce's arms was going to run for more than a couple of hours. Before he left, however, he agreed to return inside of forty-eight hours in order to discuss proceedings against Nona. Part of him rebelled at the thought of taking orders from Batman, of reassuming the yoke that Dick and the other two seemed to wear more or less willingly, but he saw no other way forward. He couldn't take Gotham's newest villain on alone, and hatching a plan in the city itself was too dangerous. The cave was the only place their efforts could be safely coordinated from. Besides, he allowed as he pulled his motorcycle out onto the back road he'd used to sneak onto the Manor grounds, at least by meeting at the house he'd be able to see his brother again.

His apartment was sweltering by the time he arrived back at it. Sleeping on the bed would be miserable, he knew, but he didn't so much as consider the cool kitchen linoleum as a substitute. Laying there again was out of the question after what had happened last time. He would just have to sweat it out in the other room.

The late afternoon and much of the evening passed in doses of fitful dozing. He had no nightmares, but memories, many of them long forgotten, kept popping their heads up. Most of them featured Dick, but to his surprise there were a scattered few starring Bruce. Even more shocking was the fact that they were all good recollections, consisting primarily of one-armed hugs, wry laughter, and the occasional proud smile. Was it possible, he wondered blearily, that those thing were part of his future as well as his past? A day earlier he would have scoffed at himself for allowing such a thought into his head, but for some reason it no longer seemed like such a ridiculous daydream to have.

Night fell, and he rose. Jason Todd disappeared under the mask of Red Hood, and minutes later the latter was stalking the streets. He expected that the record-breaking heat would keep both the petty criminals and the bigger troublemakers more or less at bay, giving him a quiet patrol during which he might reflect on the past day. During the first few of the dark hours his prediction held true; there was minimal action, and what little there was was provided by amateur baddies. It was only as midnight approached that he sensed an unwelcome and potentially dangerous presence shadowing him. He could have risen into the air and escaped his tail, but that would only have delayed the inevitable. "What is it?" he snarled over his shoulder instead.

"Mr. Fong requests your presence," a lilting voice informed him.

His mouth tightened. He'd been expecting something like this sooner or later – there had been too many Bats in his territory of late for someone not to have taken notice – but he'd hoped it wouldn't be Fong who caught him out. Still, all he could do was answer the summons and try to gloss over the increased traffic. "Where?"

"In the green room of the Mayflower restaurant."

"When?"

"He is waiting for you now. Please hurry."

..._'Please hurry'_? Jason frowned. The urgency of the request almost suggested that this meeting didn't have anything to do with Batman at all. "I'm going," he agreed, and ascended to the nearest rooftop.

It seemed he'd been right to not try and run, he reflected as he swung across his domain. If Fong had business other than Batman, it would have looked suspicious for him to have fled the man's messenger. As he landed in the alley behind the designated eatery, however, his gut began to send fresh warning signals. Something didn't add up, but he couldn't pinpoint the error in his calculations. Unable to make sense of his feelings and knowing that Fong would already have been informed of his impending arrival, he could do nothing except duck into the busy back halls of the building and make his way towards his rendezvous.

He realized what he'd overlooked the instant he glanced through the doorway and spied the three figures sitting at one end of a long banquet table. While the Mayflower styled itself as a Chinese restaurant, he had never seen a Chinese person eating there. It was very popular amongst Gotham's mafiosos, on the other hand, and he had met both of the men flanking Fong here before. The choice of location told him that it was the mobsters, not the tong leader, who had called this meeting. That being the case, Fong's presence tonight could mean only one thing; that this was _definitely_ about Batman.

"Ah, Red Hood," Fong greeted him. "I am glad to see you. Come in and join us, please."

He stepped forward until he was standing at the opposite end of the table from the triad. "What's this about, Fong? Your messenger made it sound important."

"It _is_ important," the man to Fong's left spoke.

"_What's _important, Ardizzone?" Jason pressed.

"We think you already know the answer to that," the third fellow said.

"...So what, you think I would waste my time asking you what this was about if I already knew? Is that it, Necchi, you figure I have a whole lot of hours to spare or something?"

"Please," Fong broke in, trying to calm the situation. "Mr. Ardizzone and Mr. Necchi-" both Italians winced as their fellow crime boss butchered their names "-are just a little eager to get their answers. We did not come here to fight with you."

"Then why the hell _are_ we here?" Red Hood repeated his original question. Although he knew the reason for the gathering, without that information there would be no good reason for these three men to be in a room together. Ardizzone and Necchi had a history of cooperating with one another, as their respective industries of gambling and prostitution made them natural allies, but Fong the illegal animal parts dealer was a wild card. The only thing that linked them were the deals that Red Hood had made independently with each of them regarding Batman, deals that he had broken when he had invited his former mentor to speak to Nate Westing a few nights earlier. Faking ignorance now might, he hoped, buy him a little faith in the minds of the trio facing him down.

"We're here about Batman, Hood," Ardizzone said.

"Yeah. Tell us about Batman," Necchi picked up. "How's he doing these days?"

"How should I know?" he fired back.

"Well, you've been spending so much time with him lately we thought you might have had a chummy little chat," Ardizzone accused.

_Wrong bird, Ardizzone. Nightwing's his 'chum', not me._ _If you'd seen them practically clinging to each other like I did earlier, you'd know that. _Shaking the thought off, he focused on the situation at hand. "Is that what this is about? Those couple of times I warned him about coming too close to my territory last week?" He forced out a laugh. "If that's your biggest worry right now then I guess you've already dealt with the guy who's been running those cage-fight death matches out of the warehouse district, huh?"

Ardizzone flushed. "I was going to talk to you about him, actually, but I want to get this shit cleared up first."

"We can't have Batman in our zones, Hood," Necchi lectured. "You know that. We had an agreement."

"Batman's not in my zone, and that means he's not in yours, unless you've expanded out of my territory and into his. And if you have, then there's nothing I can do for you beyond the line. _That_ was part of our agreement, too."

"Then how do you explain those meetings you've been having with him?" Ardizzone pushed.

The mobsters were determined to find fault with his conduct, and Jason knew he was going to have to gamble if he wanted to come out of this meeting looking clean. So long as no one other than Nona's team had seen him with Dick or leading Batman down to interrogate Westing, it was a bet he thought he could win. "They were what I said they were," he growled. "Warnings."

"Just warnings, huh?"

"Yeah. Warnings. You might notice you haven't seen him hanging out around here. He's attempted it a couple of times, but I've always intercepted him and chased him out."

"What about last night?"

His blood ran cold. "You saw that, did you?" he asked flippantly, trying to buy himself time as he searched for a plausible excuse for Red Robin and Robin's appearance.

"One of my guys did."

"So much for Batman not hanging out," Necchi sneered.

"Batman _didn't_ hang out last night," he retorted. "It was his minions that tried." His answer came to him then, arriving in the form of a flashback to earlier in the day. Alfred had insisted on putting bruise cream on Damian's cheek after he'd come back down from seeing Dick, and the teen had sent Jason a half spiteful, half respectful look as he'd followed the butler out of the living room. "...And I sent them packing, like usual," he said now. "Or didn't your guy see me knock the living daylights out of the runt, Ardizzone?"

Necchi and Fong both turned to the second mobster. Ardizzone nodded once, his lips slimming down into a thin line as he admitted that his case wasn't airtight.

Sensing that the advantage was his, Jason pressed it. "You say we had an agreement, Necchi, and we did. It's the same as the ones I made with Ardizzone and Fong. I keep Batman and his little acolytes out of my territory, and in exchange you keep your businesses as clean as possible. No underage girls working the corners, no murdering people for their gambling debts, no Batman interference. I'm willing to let your schemes go on with limited restrictions, but we all know that if I disappear he'll have you in jail in a matter of months, maybe even weeks. I've held up my end of our deals, but I've caught you and Ardizzone both breaking the rules before. Fong's the only one other than me who's done what he said he'd do, so what the _hell_ kind of right do you have to come in here and question my upkeep of our contracts?"

Fong stood up and straightened his jacket. "I am not questioning anything about our contract, Red Hood," he said firmly. "Mr. Necchi and Mr. Ardizzone-" once again the other two winced "-brought me the concerning news about Batman's recent visits to the border, but you have restored my confidence. I hope you will forgive me for my brief lack of trust. I am sure that with you protecting our interests from Batman's overzealous sense of justice we have nothing to worry about. Do you agree, Mr.-"

Ardizzone cut him off before his name could be butchered for a third time. "I still don't think everything's straight here," he said, "but I'll leave it be for now. Besides, rumor's going around that there's going to be some big changes soon." He shot a conspiratorial grin to Necchi. "After that happens, I don't think we'll have to worry about Batman anymore." His gaze hardened as he turned it back to Red Hood. "Might not have to worry about keeping things quite so clean then, either."

It had been meant as a threat, but Jason saw a way to turn it into another point for his side of the battle. "Maybe _you_ won't," he nodded, "but if you're talking about Nona, Necchi'd better watch his back."

All three crime lords jumped. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?!" Necchi cried out.

"And how the fuck do you even know about Nona?" Ardizzone added, looking flustered. "Damn it, that woman's everywhere..."

"That is why she will win," Fong opined. His voice was steady, but a thin sheen of sweat had appeared on his forehead.

"Hey! What was that supposed to mean, Hood?!" Necchi demanded. "What you said. What was that shit?!"

"I'm just saying that Nona's not a big fan of crimes against women," Red Hood shrugged. "She told me that herself right after she killed a guy for smacking some girl around. Prostitution just seems like the kind of thing she'd want to keep a close eye on, you know?"

"Fuck!" Necchi threw his hands up in a gesture of frustrated despair. "She's gonna turn me into a fucking marionette. I knew I shouldn't have trusted some woman on a power trip. _Fuck_!"

"Hey. Watch your mouth about Nona," Jason ordered roughly.

"Who are you to be telling me what I can and can't say?!"

"Yeah, Hood, keep out of it. This hasn't got anything to do with you!" Ardizzone pitched in.

"Are you sure about that?" he asked flatly.

Fong merely blinked at him, but the mobsters exchanged a panicked look. "_What_?!" they exclaimed together.

Jason laughed for real this time. He had come into this impromptu gathering with no idea of how he was going to defend himself against a charge of fraternizing with the enemy, and now he was about to leave it having dropped a devastating bomb on his accusers. It was amusing how the tables had turned. "...All I'm saying," he advised, drawing out the sentence in order to savor the incredulous stares being directed at him, "is that when it comes to Nona, you never know who might already be working for her."

Three jaws dropped. Red Hood took the sight in for a moment, then chuckled once more. _Okay, Bruce,_ he thought as he turned and walked out of the room. _You want a double agent? You've got one. _Necchi's pale, frightened face flashed behind his eyes again. _...This is going to be fun._


	32. Chapter 32

Twelve hours later the confidence he'd felt as he walked out of the Mayflower had been replaced by a vague sense of trepidation. "...Should have just gone through the damn window again," he muttered, staring down the front door of the Manor. He had exited through this very portal the day before, but for some reason going the other direction was proving difficult. His fist rose as if to tap at the finely carved wood, then fell back to his side. Even if he'd wanted to announce his presence to anyone in earshot of the foyer, it felt weird to knock at a house he'd once had the run of. But what, he fretted, if the door was locked? He hadn't had a key in a very long time, and he would look like a complete idiot if someone caught him trying to open a bolted door.

In the end he supposed that either of those results were preferable to getting busted shuffling his feet on the front porch. Tight-lipped, he reached forward and grabbed the knob. To his surprise it turned easily under his hand, letting him in without questioning his credentials. It seemed too simple of a homecoming, and he hesitated for a bare instant. A waft of cool air washed over him suddenly, lifting the sweat from his brow. It was the kindest invitation to come forward that he could have been offered on a late July day, and he accepted it without further thought.

The entryway was empty and silent, but he didn't mind. Leaning back against the door, he looked up at the massive chandelier that had hung from the high ceiling for as long as he'd been familiar with this house. Dick had once told him that each individual crystal was a promise made to those who lived here, an oath of love, protection, happiness, and the like. He'd wanted to scoff at the time, but had refrained in order to spare his brother's feelings. Now, though, he had no interest in laughing at it. The concept was still ridiculous, as there weren't enough positive sentiments in the world to account for the thousands of tiny teardrops that made up the hanging fixture, but part of him ached for it to be true. Love; protection; happiness. Were those things so much to ask for?

Shaking his head at himself, he pushed away from the door and headed up the stairs. His excuse for coming was to inform Bruce of his definite plans for playing double agent against Nona, but that would wait until he'd satisfied the real reason he had returned so soon after yesterday. There was no way that Dick would be alone, but maybe the older man would get the hint and ask whoever was with him to clear off for a few minutes. Then he could try again to get him to recall those brief halcyon minutes when Jason had been the only person he trusted. J'onn had said they shouldn't try to drag anything forward from those lost days just yet, but he couldn't help his ambition. For a fraction of time he had been the only hope in his beloved elder brother's eyes, and he desperately needed that to be a memory that they shared.

The first bedroom on the right was deserted, however. He frowned, surprised that Bruce and Alfred had let their sick charge out of bed. The only reasonable explanation was that Dick had requested to move downstairs to the den for the day, where he might watch TV and fit more people into the room with him at one time. But that flew in the face of the Martian's advice about crowds; wasn't Dick supposed to be re-acclimating to the society of others _slowly_? Then again, the man was a fiend for parties, and he was surrounded by people he seemed to once more know to be wholly on his side.

Sighing heavily, Jason closed the door. If everyone was downstairs together the odds were good that he wouldn't get any time alone with the person he'd _really_ come to see. He toyed with the idea of just leaving and trying again the next day, but the events of the night before stopped him. If there was one thing that all of Gotham's various classes had in common, it was an extraordinary knack for spreading rumors. That being the case, there was a very good chance that word of Red Hood's possible alliance with Nona would reach the ears of either Batman or one of the Robins tonight. Since he wasn't interested in being accused of double crossing them it was important that he speak to Bruce prior to departing, if only to update him on the situation in town.

Before he went downstairs and continued his search, though, there was one small thing he wanted to do. Several times over the last day he had tried to re-create his old bedroom in his mind, curious as to what he would have seen if he had opted to stay the night at the Manor. Dick had told him on more than one occasion that the chamber looked the same as it had when he'd last left it on that distant, fatal night of years before, but Jason could no longer remember exactly how that was. Looking would be dangerous, he knew, but it was a risk he was willing to take in order to fill the troublesome gap in his mind.

But it was not to be. After traversing the short distance between Dick's door and what had once been his own, he found his entry barred by an unyielding handle. _...He keeps it locked_, he puzzled. _Why would he keep it locked?_ Inexplicably hurt – maybe it was easier for Bruce not to think about him if kept his possessions locked away, he reasoned painfully – he stumbled back a step. _What the hell, man?_

"He's not up here."

Jason spun to face the intruder. "What?"

"I said he's not up here," Tim repeated. He tilted his head towards Dick's room. "You were looking for him, right? Or for Bruce?"

"I..." He trailed off, his emotions tangling. It should have upset him that one of the replacements, and this one in particular, had caught him in a vulnerable state. All he felt was a deep sadness, however, a melancholy tinged at the edges with jealousy. Tim had his own room, he was certain, and it was unlocked. He could come and go as he pleased without second-guessing himself on the stoop. He knew where the others were right now, knew because he _had_ stayed the night, knew because he lived here and could mark the comings and goings of his family without expending any great effort on secrecy. Did the man watching him carefully from a safe distance away know just how lucky he was to possess such trivial information? Jason wondered. "...I guess," he finished lamely.

"Okay, well...they're not up here."

"Yeah, I got that the first time you said it." They stared at one another for a second. "Why are _you_ up here?"

"Because I live here," Tim answered a bit cattily. He seemed to regret his tone almost immediately, and his next words were more conciliatory. "...And because there's a YouTube video that Wally wants Dick to see, so I came up to get my tablet."

"Wally...is he here, too?" It was bad enough having to dodge the younger birds, Barbara, and Alfred in order to take care of business with Dick and Bruce, let alone trying to avoid JLA visitors at the same time. If there was a JLA invasion going on downstairs – and knowing how popular Dick had always been amongst his fellow heroes, there probably was – then Jason was better off leaving a note and getting the hell out of Dodge.

"Yeah." Tim cocked his head. "...I didn't know you knew Wally."

"I don't. I mean..." He grimaced. He didn't particularly want to get pulled into a discussion with anyone other than the two people he had come to speak to, but at the same time he wasn't sure that just shrugging Tim off would help his cause. With Nightwing out of service for at least the next few weeks, the chances were good that he would be interacting with Red Robin a fair bit. Defeating Nona, he realized suddenly, was more important than antagonizing the replacements. "...I don't really know him that well. He's...he was always hanging out with Dick when he was here."

"Oh. Didn't...didn't they ask you to join them sometimes, though?"

He looked puzzled, and Jason gathered that he was regularly invited to team up with the older pair for antics. Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to be angry about it for the simple reason that it was he who had once been the requested third wheel. "They did," he admitted now. "But..." But he had always said no, had always been unwilling to share Dick with anyone else who had earned the title of 'bro', to share him with anyone at all, really. "...I always had other things going on," he made an excuse.

"Yeah...I used to have 'other things' going on when they'd ask me, too."

Jason started. "What are you talking about?" he half-sneered out of habit.

Tim didn't seem to notice. "I mean I used to turn them down all the time, too. Then Dick asked me one day why I never wanted to hang out with them. I told him that I didn't want to intrude on their time together – it's not like they get much of it, you know – but I could tell that it made him upset. So the next time they asked I said yes. I thought it would end with them regretting having invited me, but I knew it would make Dick happy if I at least tried.

"We had fun," he shrugged. "A lot of fun, to be honest. We still do, when we hang out. They don't always invite me along – they've taken Damian to do stuff a couple times this last year, and sometimes they go off on their own – but when they do...it's good." He paused. "Wally's a great guy. And it's not like he's alone with Dick right now, you know. They took a couple minutes when he first got here, but that's over. Everyone's down there except Alfred, because he's busy making lunch. Anyway..." Tim raised a hand to the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. "...I guess what I'm trying to say is that you wouldn't be intruding if you came downstairs and...you know...hung out for a while. I know Dick would appreciate it, and I'm pretty sure that Bruce would, too."

Jason was bowled over by the suggestion, but his mouth didn't relay that fact as it spouted off cruelly out of habit. "Trying to score some brownie points by bringing the ugly princess to the ball? Is that what this is?"

Tim's expression, which had remained carefully neutral through the full length of his speech, narrowed in annoyance. "...No, actually," he gave a heated reply. "I just thought you might like to act like a decent, normal human being for a little while. But never mind; I'll just get what I came up here for and leave you alone to rattle locked doors."

Finished speaking, he strode towards where his own bedroom lay. As he passed, Jason grabbed his elbow with one hand. Tim paused, his muscles tightening as if he expected to be attacked. The reaction served to throw the past that Jason had created and the future he wanted into stark contrast, and he swallowed hard. With extreme difficulty, he managed to meet Tim's hard gaze. "...I didn't mean that," he whispered sincerely.

"Then what _did_ you mean, Jason?"

"I meant..." _I meant thank you,_ he thought. Without Tim's interference he wouldn't be standing in this familiar hallway, he wouldn't know that his brother was safe and relatively sound, and he certainly wouldn't be considering taking up the offer to go downstairs and 'hang out' for a while. There was so much he ought to thank this person he had so recently reviled for, and the guilt of being unable to do so burned in his stomach. But there was simply no way those words could be spoken; not here, not now, and not to Tim. Not yet. "I don't know what I meant," he breathed finally.

A dissatisfied grunt sounded, and Tim pulled away. Jason didn't turn around to watch him go, but he heard a door open behind him and assumed he had gone into his own chamber. _I should just leave,_ he mused miserably. Part of him was willing to try the gathering downstairs – he could always leave if it felt too awkward, and at least then he'd get a glimpse of Dick, and maybe even a hug – but he sensed that he'd already ruined his chances by insulting Tim. _Why the hell did I say that? That was fucking stupid, Todd..._ He would go leave a note about Nona in the cave, and then he would leave. It was for the best.

Before he could take more than a half step, though, Tim's door shut to his rear. A moment later the man was beside him, a tablet clutched in his hand and a mildly perturbed look on his face. "...Well?" he inquired. "Are you coming?"

There was still a hint of exasperation in his voice, but it was far less ireful than it had been a minute earlier. "Am I still invited?" Jason asked.

"It's rude to withdraw an invitation once it's been issued. Didn't Alfred ever tell you that?"

For some reason the comment struck him as funny. Maybe it was because he could remember the butler telling him that exact thing on a long-ago day; maybe it was just the wry way in which Tim had spoken. Either way, he felt a smile tilt the corners of his mouth upwards. "Yeah," he nodded. "He, uh...he did. I guess you're kind of stuck with me now."

Tim's eyes widened at the double meaning that Jason hadn't meant to relay, and for a second he thought he'd gone too far again. "Ah, shit," he cursed, turning away.

"Hold on." Now it was Tim who grabbed his elbow. "...You're not wrong. I _am_ stuck with you. And whether you like it or not, you're stuck with me, and with Damian too." He paused. "We don't necessarily have to like each other, Jason, but I don't see why that should mean that we have to make each other miserable."

This was not the first truce that Tim had ever offered him, but it was the first one that Jason had even considered accepting. "…I agree," he said slowly. "On one condition."

"That being?"

He glanced at the locked bedroom sandwiched between Dick and Tim's. "Don't mention that to anyone. Not even Dick."

"I can do that."

"Okay." He felt some of the tension he'd been carrying ever since he'd passed the gates at the bottom of the driveway bleed away. "Then I guess we have a deal."

"I guess we do." A beat passed. "Hey, Jason?"

"Yeah?"

Tim blinked at him for a long moment, seeming to search for something in his face. "…Thanks," he said eventually. "For helping Dick, I mean. I appreciate it."

"Yeah, well…he would have done the same for me."

"Yeah. He would have. I'm glad you realize that." With that, Tim turned towards the stairs. "Let's go. They'll be starting to wonder what's taking me so long. Besides, lunch should be about ready. I think Alfred was making chicken."

"Chicken…" How long had it been since he'd had a chicken leg that didn't come from a fast food drive-through? His guilt drained from his stomach in order to make room for hunger. "…Yeah. Yeah, okay. Right…right behind you."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: There will be no chapter on Thursday, since it is Thanksgiving and I will be visiting my internet-less parents. There will be a chapter on Sunday, however. <strong>

**Between the 1st and the 25th of December I'm guessing that I will probably only be able to get about one to two chapters a week out on this story due to 'A Second Counting of Days', which will be a chapter-a-day series. I don't want to make promises about which days of the week I'll post for this story on during that period, since I'm not sure how much time I'll have to spend on it. After the holidays we will be back on the Tuesday/Thursday/Sunday schedule as usual.**

**Happy reading, and happy Thanksgiving!**


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